


so why don't we go somewhere only we know

by dustywords



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, also known as: root lives fic, fix it fic for 510, team machine 2.0 got expanded oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7312303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustywords/pseuds/dustywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you ask Shaw, only three steps separate them from victory:<br/>1) Make sure Root recovers fully from her injuries<br/>2) Get the team back together and come up with a battle plan<br/>3) Fuck Samaritan up for good</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hello. yes, you read that right. i started another multi-chapter fic even tho my shaw centric fic is still a work in progress. however, CANON RELATED EVENTS inspired this fic--so i had to write it. pls enjoy!
> 
> important: i researched a lot but a) i am not a doctor and b) neither is google. so. expect something closer to grey's anatomy's level of medical accuracy than house md's, okay? great.

There are things you can’t be prepared for.

Like John Reese jumping out from the back of an ambulance yelling: “Relax, Hot Shot. It’s the cavalry. Get in.” Or Leon Tao driving said ambulance. Or Fusco sitting on the passenger seat looking like he is extremely uncomfortable even sitting inside of that thing.

It’s moments like this where she wonders if she’s still stuck in simulation hell.

Shaw shakes her head and follows Reese, jumps into the back of the ambulance after him and pulls the doors closed. Reese takes the MP5A3 from her grip and hands her over the same jacket and cap he and Leon Tao are already wearing. The ambulance starts moving again.

She doesn’t even ask. It must be the Machine’s doing. She zips the jacket closed and puts the ridiculous cap on, checking if her gun is still tucked into the waistband of her jeans.

And then she tries to avoid going through the possible reasons why the Machine wanted them in an ambulance.

“Where to now, boss?” Leon asks, sounding mildly agitated.

Fusco side eyes him with his mouth turned down. “You sure you can drive that thing?”

The radio unit cracks between them.

“I drove us here, man. How much more proof do you need, huh?”

Shaw moves to the small window between the two front seats and takes her phone out to interrupt these two. “We gotta get to Root and Finch before Samaritan does. Just follow the red dot,” she instructs them, handing Fusco her phone.

He raises his brows. “What is that red dot supposed to be?”

“It’s gonna lead us to Root’s location,” Shaw says. She turns around and takes a seat next to John while Fusco starts to tell Leon where exactly to go. They pick up speed.

Reese gives her a curious look. “Did you bug your girlfriend, Shaw?”

She shuts him up with a glare.

This jacket is slightly too big for her and she hopes the Machine was just being overly precautious by instructing the boys to pick up an ambulance.

They better won’t have to use that stretcher in front of them.

_This is real._

*

It’s Fusco who takes the call for an ambulance through the radio unit. It is dispatched by a cop on a road not too far away from their current location.

The ambulance is for a woman with two gunshots.

Shaw massages the spot behind her ear, wondering if the simulation is now finally catching up with her. Maybe they’re trying to go down a different route?

“Hey, you okay?” Reese hands her a pair of blue surgical gloves.

She stops rubbing the spot and blinks a few times before taking the gloves.

She doesn’t answer him.

*

They arrive at the crime scene with sirens and lights on. The silver BMW is right in front of them, where most cops are gathered. The back of the car looks more trashed than last time she saw it driving away.

Leon stops the vehicle gently and exhales loudly. “Now what?”

Fusco is already climbing out of the ambulance, ignoring Leon’s question. He flashes his badge to be passed through. The slightly chaotic atmosphere around the silver BMW is probably what lets him get away with appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

Shaw slings the emergency case over her shoulder and gets to the other side of the stretcher.

“Keep the engine running,” John says over his shoulder, also shouldering his own bag.

“Understood,” Leon breathes, pulling his cap a bit lower. He looks nervously around.

“We need that small oxygen tank. The tubes and oxygen masks are right next to it. Yes. Okay, come on.”

Shaw pushes the doors open and helps Reese getting the stretcher out. She starts pushing the stretcher once he’s out with the needed supplies and they walk in a fast pace towards the car.

“Just follow my lead,” she tells him, and then the first cop greets them and starts explaining in short, insightful sentences what has happened, what injuries they are looking at and what steps have been taken so far to stop the bleeding.

It’s logical and easy to focus on and for once Shaw doesn’t feel like she’s drifting through another simulation.

And with that relief filling conclusion comes the adrenaline rush that is followed by heavy dread when she finally gets a look at Root.

Shaw hates how pale she looks. She’s unconscious and her pulse is weak but it’s there. She doesn’t have to lift the gauze to see what kind of damage she’s dealing with here. One gunshot wound pierced her side, the other one probably nicked her lung. It would explain the shallow, uneven breathing. No wonder she went into shock.

“We gotta hurry up,” she tells Reese, applying pressure to the makeshift bandage over both wounds. The other cops have moved aside to give them room.

“On it.” He lowers the stretcher to ground level and helps her getting Root as smoothly as humanly possible out of that car without adding any more damage to her wounds. Once she’s securely strapped on it, they lift it up again. Shaw gently places the oxygen mask over Root’s nose and mouth and connects the tube to the small compact oxygen tank Reese has attached to the stretcher earlier. Then they leave the crime scene, Reese pushing the stretcher and Shaw still applying pressure to the wounds.

No one asks questions.

No one notices that Shaw is wearing the wrong shoes to be a real paramedic.

The bag keeps hitting against her hip with each hurried step.

Fusco finds them at the back of the ambulance and watches how they are pushing the stretcher inside. His face is very serious when he sees Root’s state. “Finch got arrested. I’m gonna go to the precinct they’ve taken him. See what I can do.”

“Call me if you know something.” She hears the worry in Reese’ voice.

“Will do.” Fusco closes the doors with that.

Reese walks past her. “Leon, get us out of here.”

“Alright.” The ambulance starts backing up, makes a U-turn and starts picking up speed again, sirens on and lights flashing.

“Guys? Which hospital are we going by the way?” Leon asks. Shaw barely notices that they are still moving. Pretty fast even.

“Hang on,” Reese says, busy with his phone. He starts a call to some Dr. Tillman to ask for fake medical records for some name she barely gets, but Shaw is already too busy with the next step she has to do.

Shaw turns the compact little ECG on and starts ripping the packages with electrodes open. She cuts Root’s shirt open to have an easy access to the points she needs to place them on. Then she takes the cords out and connects them to the ECG. Her heart rate is pretty high. 189bps. A tachycardia is not her biggest worry right now.

Next she takes a pulse oximeter out and slips it around Root’s left index finger, connecting it with a cord to the ECG as well. Then she waits for the SpO2 results to come up.

She can already tell that Root’s breathing is more and more strained, her skin starts to have a blueish tint. Shit. Shaw goes through the labels on the cupboards and drawers until she finds what she’s looking for. She opens the drawer and gets the small bag out. She doesn’t have to see the SpO2 anymore to know something is very wrong.

Reese is still on the phone, explaining to someone else their situation. She doesn’t listen to his words, ignores him to focus on her task at hand. Everything else just doesn’t matter right now.

She gets back to Root and turns the oxygen flow off for now to switch tubes and mask. Then she gets everything ready and placed in a convenient and easy accessible way. She takes a deep breath and then gets Root’s head into the right position.

“Can I help?” Reese is next to her, looking over her shoulder.

“Hand me the laryngoscope over.”

“The…?”

Shaw grits her teeth. “The long silver thing with…yeah, that one.”

“Ah.”

She takes the laryngoscope from him into her left hand and starts to insert the curved blade into Root’s mouth and pushes her tongue out of her way until she has a good view on the epiglottis and larynx.

She can hear how Reese turns away. Loser.

Next she takes with her right hand the endotracheal tube and starts inserting it into her trachea. Once she’s sure to have done it correctly she reaches for the Ambu bag with mask she previously connected to the oxygen tank and attaches it to the tube, while carefully removing the laryngoscope.

And then she starts to pump with even motions while watching the ECG monitor. The SpO2 is at least stabilizing. That’s good enough for now.

Shaw closes her eyes and keeps her hand moving.

_This is real. This is real. This is real._

*

Shaw has no idea what hospital they’re driving towards right now, but suddenly Reese is behind her again and motions to the ECG. “We have to fake her death,” Reese says in a low voice. “I took care of everything important for the moment. You have to sign her in as Selena Miles, got it?”

Her hand is starting to cramp but she ignores it.

Shaw looks down to Root’s pale face, nodding once. “Loosen the cords a bit at the ECG and it’ll stop measuring her heart rate and oxygen saturation.”

He nods and gets to it. Soon the stretching silence is filled with a long defeating beep that doesn’t stop. The ambulance slows down. “Dr. Enright will be waiting for us. She’s an old friend and she knows about our…situation. She’ll declare Selena Miles dead and then she’ll operate on her down in the pathology.” He takes a small breath, looking down at Root again. “We should put a cloth over her body, right?” He’s already on the move before she can reply.

It’s not a bad idea so she lets him do it. That way Samaritan won’t recognize Root. She hopes Reese is right and it’ll all work out in their favor because there is only 7 shots left in her P226R and evacuating Root out of a hospital in her current state is impossible.

It better be working.

The ambulance comes to a stop and the doors are opened by a woman and two men who look young enough to be at the beginning of their residency program. Stupid interns. Shaw hopes that this Dr. Enright is not planning on letting these two help her operate on Root.

Honestly, Shaw herself is probably of more use than these two.

“What do we got here?”

“Selena Miles, 33, car crash. We’ve done all we could,” Shaw says in an even tone and nods to the ECG. Her hand is still under the blanket and keeps pumping the Ambu bag in small, but more or less even movements. The interns look too disappointed to pay attention to her and Dr. Enright gives her a knowing nod. They get out of the ambulance and march towards the ER entrance, the two interns already racing back inside to get an actual case. Idiots.

“Hey, what about me!” Leon stage whispers behind them through the open window. The ambulance is still running.

“Use the map I sent you and wait for my call,” Reese tells him over his shoulder with urgency in his voice and then they enter the hospital building.

Shaw is grateful for the stupid cap that covers most of her face. Dr. Enright signs Root in under her fake name and declares her dead in the same breath. Nobody questions it.

They follow her down the hall to the elevators. It’s too busy in here for anyone to really notice that something is currently not going according to protocol. And she doubts that Samaritan will take an interest in this case.

Not immediately, at least.

The elevator is empty when they enter it and Dr. Enright pushes the button leading down to the morgue. Shaw uses her free hand to cast the cloth aside and check Root’s pulse. It’s still there.

“How are you, Madeleine?” Reese asks politely. She really has to ask him how exactly he knows her. An ex? “How’s your wife?” Yeah, or maybe not.

“We’re doing fine, thanks. I’d be doing better if you told me why exactly I have to perform another secret open chest surgery, but I guess that’s still a no?” Madeleine doesn’t seem disgruntled or anything. Shaw wonders how often Reese has called her to fix people. “Speaking of, how’s your friend doing?”

Reese makes a serious face. Trying to fake a smile with all the stress he’s experiencing right now wouldn’t have gone over too well anyway, Shaw thinks. Some things don’t change. “He’s recovered well, thanks.”

Oh, so she was the one who saved Elias. Interesting.

Dr. Enright smiles. “I am glad.” And then the elevator stops and they get out of there, following Dr. Enright’s lead. She sounds serious when she speaks next. “Listen, I don’t mind helping you, but there is one problem: I can’t guarantee you anything, because I will have to do the surgery alone unlike last time and I am good at what I do, but I have never done that before completely on my own and—”

“You won’t be alone,” Shaw interrupts her softly. Her hand is really starting to protest from all this pumping. “I will help you.”

“Are you a surgeon?”

“Almost became what you are today,” she simply says. Well, she hasn’t really aimed to become a cardiothoracic surgeon, but whatever. She did study medicine and started her residency program. She was excellent at it. Still is, more or less. Good enough to assist in a surgery for sure.

Dr. Enright eyes her curiously and then looks to Reese for some sort of confirmation. He simply nods.

They reach a door and stop. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

*

The surgery took a total of 5 hours and 32 minutes. They had one close call but Root made it through and that’s all that counts. Dr. Enright is truly an excellent surgeon.  

Right now, Shaw is standing next to Reese, still dressed in her scrubs, her clothes folded away in that plastic bag to her feet. She’s dead tired. Her feet are sore from standing so long with no shoes on at an operating table (her own shoes just weren’t fit for a surgery). Her back could use some rest as well.

Reese hands her a cup of lukewarm hospital coffee. “How did it go?” He is sipping his own coffee and seems a little more relaxed than hours ago.

Shaw looks at Root’s form that is once again hidden under a blanket. Her tube is connected to a portable oxygen ventilator that the hospital has begun to replace with newer ones. Dr. Enright said they could take it, no one would notice right away that it was missing. She’s currently upstairs packing a duffel bag with meds and supplies they will need for the next few days.

Shaw checks her pulse before answering. “The internal bleeding from the side wound wasn’t too bad, but the damage to the lung was pretty bad. We fixed it. The next 48 hours are important and that means we have to get her somewhere safe and quiet.” That’s a problem she’s been nursing over ever since they got out of surgery.

“The subway is still safe,” Reese says slowly, as if testing waters.

Shaw looks at the disgusting coffee swimming in the cup, tensing a little. She takes a deep breath. “I have to stay with Root, in case there are complications,” she mumbles.

Reese says nothing, doesn’t prod any further. He knows that was a no. She can’t go to the subway. “I’ll think of something, don’t worry.” He is silent for a moment and then he shifts and looks at her again. “So,” he starts. “Where did you bug Root?”

She smiles faintly at his obvious try to distract her. It’s working. “Her leather jacket.”

“That’s smart.”

“Had a feeling I could use it.” Her voice doesn’t betray how the cold prickling feeling on her neck while bugging the jacket has almost changed her mind. It’d happened far too often in the simulations, but the intense urge to be able to track Root if need be has won in the end.

Reese wouldn’t understand, because he doesn’t know about what exactly happened to her. He has never asked or made any attempts to find out what happened and she’s grateful for that.

But she’s slowly feeling a little light headed from being confronted with so much and having so little time to process it. Today was…just a lot to take in. And it’s not helping that Root found the worst possible way to catch up on some overdue sleep and leaving her alone to deal with all of her issues.

They hear how the elevator doors slide open around the corner and Shaw reaches to the back of her pants where her P226R is, Reese is already holding his gun.

But it’s just Dr. Enright dressed in her casual clothes with her own bag slung over her shoulder and a big black duffel bag in her hands. It seems to be heavy judging by her stance. “Here,” she says a little breathlessly, handing the bag to Reese. “I put everything inside you could possibly need. But call me if you need anything else, alright?”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Reese says with an awkward smile, putting the bag down.

Dr. Enright smiles back. “You saved my wife, John. The least I can do is do you some favors. Even if it comes with a lot of paperwork about missing things,” she says, pointing at the bag. “Does your friend know where to pick you up?”

“I texted him where to go.”

“I hope you will return the ambulance, though.”

“As good as new,” Reese promises.

At this point Shaw is convinced this woman also helped them _borrow_ that ambulance Leon is driving around.

Dr. Enright laughs softly. “Take care!” And she walks back to the elevator.

Once Shaw is sure they’re alone again, she asks: “Any word from Fusco?”

Reese sighs. “Looks like you aren’t the only one who’s good at breaking out,” he says. “There was some black out at the precinct they brought him to and all the criminals in custody got loose. Finch is missing ever since.”

Shaw gives him a confused look. “Finch bailed himself out?”

“Or the Machine helped him,” Reese thinks aloud. “We have to find him.”

“You should go then,” she says, wondering why he even stayed so long. And then she remembers that Root and Reese are  _friends_ now. Right.

How is this not supposed to make her feel like she’s stuck in some really loopy simulation?

Reese shakes his head. “We have to get Root somewhere safe first.” And suddenly his face looks a little less worried. “And I might know a place you two could stay at.”

*

Shaw is positive she won’t forget Zoe Morgan’s face when she opens her door and finds them standing there any time soon.

They must be a funny sight: Reese and her standing there with a stretcher between them, where a sedated and still very pale Root is resting. For a moment the beeping of the ECG and the mechanical intakes and outtakes of breaths are the only sounds in the empty hallway in front of Zoe’s loft apartment.

“We had nowhere else to go,” Reese finally says with an apologetic half-shrug.

Zoe closes her mouth after taking this all in and looks at Reese. “Do I even want to know?” She keeps smoothing down her red dress. Judging by her make-up she either just returned from work or is about to leave.

“No.”

She sighs deeply and rubs her forehead. “Well, then. Come in.” She holds the door open for them and steps aside to give them space.

And damn, that’s some nice loft apartment. A wide, open living room greets them that seamlessly leads into an open kitchen. Dark wooden floors, expensive furniture that fit to the brick walls and wide windows are what Shaw notices first. This is without any doubt Zoe’s place.

“I like your new place,” Reese notes.

Zoe just nods distractedly and looks at Root’s face with an unreadable look on her face. “What happened to her? Is she another number?” She’s looking mainly at Reese when she asks this. “Don’t you guys have your own safe houses for situations like this?”

“We ran out of places to go, to be honest,” Reese says, avoiding to give an answer to her first question.

Which Zoe notices and responds to accordingly. “So, who is she?”

Shaw keeps herself busy by making sure none of the tubes are tangled up and checks the numbers on the ECG screen. Everything’s fine so far.

“She’s not a number,” Reese says slowly after a little pause. His struggle for a simple explanation is very evident on his face. “But we need a place for her where no one will come looking for her. Shaw will stay with her and take care of everything.”

Shaw shoots him a dirty look because out of all the ways he could’ve worded this he went with this version.

But Zoe is still staring at Root’s face, slowly nodding. She seems lost in thought. And then her face changes. As if she remembered something very important last minute. “Isn’t that the woman who pretended to be a shrink and tricked you all? Who abducted Finch?”

Uh-oh.

Reese looks at Shaw. And Shaw just closes her eyes and lets it happen.

“Her name’s Root. She’s with us now,” he says in his warm, soothing voice, and Shaw relaxes a little. “She’s our friend. And I know this is a lot to ask, but—”

“You will have an eye on her?” Zoe turns to Shaw, ignoring Reese for the moment. “I mean, she doesn’t look like she could do much harm now anyway, but—”

“No, I get it. She…” Now it’s Shaw who tries to find a way to sum up Root but all she can come up with is _she grows on you like fungus_. “She’s changed,” she opts to say instead in a soft voice.

Zoe looks startled at the change of her tone and gives her a long searching look. “Alright. She can stay. And you, too, of course. It’s good to see you again, Shaw. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking away.

Zoe pushes her hair back. “Then it’s settled,” she says, probably to Reese.

Shaw keeps her eyes trained on Root’s face.

Reese lets out a deep breath. “Good. I have to go now. Shaw? I will bring some of Root’s things when I get the chance to pick them up, okay?”

“Sure.” That’s actually not one of the things on her list she has to worry about right now. But she has a feeling this is Reese’s way to tell her that he will take care of things she can’t—like going to the subway and picking up some clothes for Root. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she warns him when he’s already reaching for the door.

He turns around and gives her a half smile. Then he leaves.

“The living room offers the most space so you should set everything up in here. She looks like she’ll be my houseguest for quite some time.” Zoe doesn’t sound really bothered by that.

Shaw nods slowly. “You could say that,” she agrees, not elaborating further. She pushes the stretcher a bit closer to the couch in the middle of the room. That will be her new bed she decides.

“Well,” Zoe makes and then checks the time. It’s dark outside but Shaw has honestly no idea what time it is. Probably has something to do with a very screwed up perception of time in general. “Shit, I have to leave. I have to meet a client and I probably won’t be back until tomorrow. You will be alright here?”

Shaw takes the stolen paramedic jacket off and pulls her gun out. “I’m good.”

Zoe hums in that half amused way of hers and walks to the wide dinner table, where her coat and a black leather handbag are waiting for her on one of the chairs. “Feel free to eat whatever you find in the fridge. There is a guest room down that hall, first door on the right. The bathroom is across the hall.” She puts her phone and keys into the bag.

“The couch is fine.”

“Well, you find pillows and blankets also in the guestroom.” Zoe smiles, puts the coat on and walks towards Shaw. She casts one last look at Root. “John never mentioned her again after what happened to Finch,” she muses.

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Before I left he didn’t even like her much.”

Zoe shakes her head while walking towards the door. Then she stops and rummages in her bag to fish her business card out. “My phone number, just in case.” She leaves it on the table next to the apartment door. “Goodnight!” Her high heels clatter on the wooden floor when she walks out, the closing door echoing in Shaw’s head.

Shaw can feel the beginning of a growing headache.

*

It takes Shaw a good hour to make sure everything is ready to her satisfaction around Root’s bed. She sets up the suction device Dr. Enright has packed into the bag of stolen goods, and attaches Root’s chest tube on her left side to it. The remaining fluids and blood will hopefully get sucked out that way within the next few days. Then she checks twice the intubated tube that is still connected to the portable oxygen ventilator and she also makes sure the stitches haven’t ripped during their trip to this place. And just for good measure she also checks the pupillary light reflex.

Next she gets the portable IV stand out which she unfolds and places between the couch and Root’s bed. Then she gets the last small device left in the bag, an IV pump and attaches it to the pole. Once she’s done with that, she reaches for the two IV bags: the bigger one is filled with electrolytes, the smaller one is filled with morphine. The first one will be the primary IV drip, the bag with the morphine will be hooked to the IV pump. Then she inserts the tube into the already set cannula in Root’s hand. She adjusts the roller and makes sure the settings of the IV pump are right, so the injected amount of both won’t overwhelm her body and makes sure the cannula is taped properly to Root’s skin.

Her fingers linger a little longer on Root’s hand, before she steps away from the bed.

All things considered, Root is doing fine so far.

Shaw sits down on the couch and leans back, staring at the ceiling. A part of her is tempted to hope this is just a cruel simulation to weaken her resolve. What better way to get to her than to hurt the one person she couldn’t hurt herself? But then she remembers the things that Root said during the shootout, before everything went to shit. Even if she still doesn’t really get Root’s rambling, it is kind of comforting, even now. Root never rambled in the simulations, not like this at least.

She touches the spot behind her left ear. There is no scar of an incision, no little bump of a chip under the skin of her fingertips.

 _This is real_.

Shaw gets up again and decides to check out what the fridge has to offer. She should probably also shower at some point. And sleep.

She is so damn tired.

*

Shaw wakes with a start and covered in cold sweat. She’s out of breath and the gunshot from her nightmare is still ringing in her ears.

With a pounding heart she sits up and tries to focus on something else than her own ragged breathing. The even beeping of the ECG and the soft hum of the oxygen ventilator calm her slowly down. Shaw can barely see anything in the dark that is only illuminated by the ECG monitor.

Root hasn’t moved an inch.

Shaw feels something tight and heavy in her chest, a sensation that has followed her around ever since she’s seen Root’s injuries.

Her index finger grazes softly Root’s hand.

It’s warm.

A few minutes later she lies back down and allows Root’s heartbeat beeping through the dark to lull her back to sleep.

*

Next time she wakes up is to the smell of scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee. Shaw sits up and rubs her eyes, immediately looking to the side where Root’s stretcher is. Nothing has changed, she’s still in the same motionless state. Which is good, because her body needs the rest to recover.

Shaw removes the empty IV bag that has been filled with electrolytes and reduces the amount of morphine once more. Then she makes sure there is no blood on the dressings of Root’s wounds or around the chest tube.

Root’s temperature is a little high though. Shaw reaches for her the bag and gets out a syringe with antibiotics. Pneumonia or anything similarly nasty is honestly the last thing she could use right now.

She shuffles to the kitchen when she’s finished.

Zoe is standing at the stove, finishing up the scrambled eggs. She turns around when she hears Shaw’s steps. “Morning, Shaw. Or, well, it’s actually almost noon. I hope you don’t mind some late brunch?”

Shaw shakes her head. “When did you come back?” It alarms her that she didn’t wake up when the front door was opened and closed by Zoe.

“Two hours ago. I had to sleep at the hotel because my job took longer than expected. I was there to make sure someone didn’t leave behind scandalous trails, the usual.” She shrugs and then sobers up a little when she notices Shaw’s face. “I was extra silent when I opened the door. I didn’t want to wake you up.” She hands Shaw her plate.

“Thanks,” Shaw says to both gestures even if she’s still a little unnerved. She walks to the table and sits down.

Zoe places a mug with coffee in front of her and a moment later she sits across Shaw. “How’s our patient?” she asks while putting some sugar into her coffee.

“Stable,” Shaw chews and puts some more eggs into her mouth. “She should wake up soon.”

“Hm,” Zoe makes, starting to eat as well, just in a much more paced manner than Shaw. “What exactly happened?”

Shaw licks her lips and takes a sip of her coffee. “I don’t really know,” she says forcefully into her mug, welcoming the burning sensation in her throat with the next huge sip. She isn’t sure at whom that anger is directed at.

Root for being so stupid to get almost killed?

The Machine for doing a shit job at protecting Root?

The sorry excuse of a human being that almost killed her?

Maybe all three of them.

Isn’t the Machine supposed to protect them? How could it not see this one coming? She puts the mug back down onto the table with much more gusto than necessary.

Zoe watches her but if she noticed anything odd in her behavior she says nothing about it.

*

Reese comes by in the afternoon with a bag and backpack filled with Root’s belongings. He hands her both and asks her about Root’s state.

“No complications so far,” Shaw says and sits down in her usual spot next to Root’s bed, putting both bags aside for now. She’ll have a look at them later on. “By the way, where’s Bear?”

“He’s with Fusco right now. I thought we could use him to maybe track Finch down the old fashioned way.”

She thinks about it for a few seconds until she gathers what he’s implying. “You think he’s hiding somewhere in the city?”

Reese blinks. “His cover is blown,” he says slowly, already considering all the options where else Finch could be. It’s been only one day that Finch went into hiding. Maybe he hasn’t left the city _yet_.

Shaw watches Reese sit down in the armchair across from her. “Do you at least have any new leads on Finch’s location?” she asks.

Reese shakes his head. “Nothing. I asked the Machine, but—nothing. All it said was that he’s safe.”

Open system, right. Shaw remembers Root gushing about her favorite all seeing friend that is now running on some PlayStation 3 consoles.

“So it knows where he is?” she asks, not sure if she likes the new Machine. Withholding information is not really the working protocol the Machine was supposed to follow. Right?

“Yes, but I guess he doesn’t want to be found. He must’ve told it to keep his location secret,” Reese says and looks out of the window for a few beeped heartbeats.

Shaw is confused. “Since when is _he_ talking to it?”

Reese looks to Root and she follows his gaze. “Maybe since it can’t talk to her right now,” he mumbles. “It did help him to get out of the precinct. Fusco said they still have no clue what happened that night. So whatever happened, maybe they bonded over it?”

Shaw looks to the side, inspecting the sunlight glowing outside on the opposite building. “Does he know Root made it?” she wonders, not looking away from the sunlight.

Reese says nothing at first. “It has to know Root is alright. So why wouldn’t the Machine tell him that she’s alive? I’m sure he knows.”

“Maybe it told him but only after he went berserk at the precinct.”

“He didn’t go ‘berserk’, Shaw,” Reese defends their friend in question.

Shaw lifts a brow. She didn’t even mean it as an insult, but she doesn’t point that out. “You gotta admit, for Finch’s standards that was a pretty big deal. Something pushed him over the edge.”

Silence grows between them.

Before they can continue exchanging theories on what exactly could’ve pushed him over the edge, Zoe’s bedroom door opens and seconds later Zoe is standing behind Reese. “John,” she says with an amused tone.

“Zoe.”

“I have to pee,” Shaw says promptly and leaves them alone to their weird verbal…whatever.

*

Zoe is once again out. Some work related crisis she has to avert, but she hasn’t elaborated further on it and Shaw hasn’t asked either. Having the loft for herself (or, well almost, but Root doesn’t count currently) isn’t too bad.

She just finished dinner and watches now some inane cooking show. Or actually, the TV is running on a cooking channel as background noise, while Shaw is inspecting the bag and backpack Reese brought earlier today. The backpack is filled with a laptop, some cables and drives in the first compartment. In the other one are two guns, lots of ammo and a charger for their phones. (Her phone. Root probably got hers confiscated.) Nothing unusual, really.

It’s the content of the bag that makes her furrow her brows and second guess reality once more. Apart from the normal part, meaning the pair of jeans, underwear (she can literally feel how much Reese must have cringed packing these) and some simple shirts, she finds a pair of white bunny slippers, a lava lamp and a black bat plushie that takes almost half of the space inside. She puts the three items on the coffee table and stares at them.

“What the hell,” she whispers with disbelief. “Who is this woman?”

Reese has to be fucking with her. Or did he accidently pack Bear’s toys? But since when did dogs play with colorful lava lamps?

She stares at Root’s pale face as if her glare alone could wake her up.

It doesn’t.

Shaw puts everything back into the bag, except for the bat plushie. And if she uses it later on as a pillow then only because it has the right size for her head and not because it smells like Root’s stupid lilac shampoo.

*

It occurs to her only seconds before truly falling asleep that this _thing_ smelling like Root’s shampoo means that Root slept with that bat plushie more than once in one bed.

 _Honestly_.

*

Shaw wakes up with a start in the middle of the night and it takes her a few seconds to realize that this time it’s not because of another nightmare or a head splitting headache.

Root is moving on the stretcher, making small noise in the back of her throat.

Shaw jumps off the couch and turns the lights on above the dinner table, feeling a little dizzy from moving so fast. Then she moves quickly back towards Root who blinks at her and whimpers.

“Don’t move. Everything is fine. You are safe,” Shaw says in the most soothing voice she can manage right after being ripped out of sleep. “Hang on a sec,” she says and gets the stethoscope out of Dr. Enright’s bag. Her free hand pulls the blanket away and she looks at Root’s bandaged chest. She listens to Root’s breathing sounds and decides that it’s time to get the tube out of her thorax.

A hand grips hers.

Shaw stares at it, absorbs its warmth and stores it away. Then she looks up again. “I know. I’ll get it out, you just have to relax.” She throws the stethoscope back into the bag and gets to work. Now some more light would be nice, but she doesn’t want to overwhelm Root’s senses so she works with what she’s got.

Root coughs and gags and then the tube is out.

“Don’t talk,” Shaw warns her when she sees Root opening her mouth. She throws the used tube into a plastic bag. “Your throat will be sore and it might hurt to talk right now, so you might want to take it easy.” Then she takes an oxygen mask out of its wrapper, connects it to the oxygen tank and puts it over Root’s mouth. “You’ll have to use it for a while, so you get slowly used to breathe on your own again.” She turns the no longer necessary ventilator off and sighs.

Root has dark circles under her eyes and she’s still burning up a little but at least the temperature hasn’t climbed up any higher in the past few hours, so that’s a good sign.

She can see a glimpse of Root’s dazed smile under the mask before it is fogged again with the next exhale. “Go back to sleep,” she tells her and waits until Root listens to her and her eyes flutter closed.

Shaw’s shoulders sag down a little when she allows relief to flood her.

Root is alive and for now that’s all that matters.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. so much positive feedback! i don't really know what to say except: thank you. 
> 
> once again the reminder that my medical knowledge is based on thorough research, but the internet is filled with lies, so it's best not to try any of the described things in this fic at home.

Root is staring at Shaw when she wakes up in the morning. It must be early still because the sunlight isn’t even streaming through the windows yet.

Shaw stares back for a bit before sitting up. “How are you?” She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and stretches her arms. This designer couch could be a little more comfortable.

Root swallows a few times and then takes the mask off with her right hand and cringes a little when she moves her arm up. “Water,” she gets out and flinches at the use of her vocal chords, which in turn makes her gasp in pain. Any sudden movement where her shoulders are involved will be painful for a while.

There is very little Root will be able to do in the next days without feeling any pain.

Shaw nods and dashes off to the kitchen. She’s already going over what she could make for Root to eat in her head. Something easy to swallow. Soup maybe. Or mashed potatoes. She fills a glass with water, opens a few drawers and cupboards before she finds the spot where Zoe keeps straws. She returns with both to Root, who is giving her a weak smile. Shaw is holding the glass while Root takes a few sips through the straw, trying not to grimace. But the way her shoulders tense make it obvious that it does hurt.

“Anything else?”

Root shakes her head a little. Her eyes glow with adoration that Shaw wants to look away from but can’t. “Thank you,” she whispers in a very hoarse voice.

Shaw answers with a long look. A part of her wants to scold Root for even getting herself into this state, but another part is still so spooked by the mere thought of losing Root in the real world that she bites her tongue and doesn’t monologue about what Root’s death would do to her and her reality issues.

Even if this sometimes doesn’t feel real at all, she doesn’t want to ever find out if Root’s death would wake her up for good or if it would fuck with her head even more.

She casts her eyes down and rubs the faint pink scar on the inside of her left palm.

Root says nothing and eventually puts the mask back on, closing her eyes a second later and Shaw takes that as her cue to go to the bathroom.

After she has showered, put on her jeans and a shirt Zoe agreed to lend her, and brushed her teeth, she goes to the kitchen and starts making coffee. Making breakfast means putting some slices of bread into the toaster in this case.

The sky outside is slowly turning light blue, promising a sunny day.

She kinda wishes she wasn’t stuck in here so she could go outside for a bit.

But Root’s current state and her still feeling followed by Samaritan agents every time she has to be outside, keep her inside. It’s for the best. 

“Morning,” Zoe yawns behind her, dressed in a bathrobe. “You look good in that shirt.” She smiles and nods at the deep red button up she’s given to her. It’s slightly too long for her, but whatever. Her other clothes are due to go into a washing machine.

“Thanks again,” Shaw says.

“Don’t mention it. Any changes?” Zoe looks at a peacefully slumbering Root.

Shaw feels a small smile on her lips but she doesn’t hide it in time when Zoe turns around. “She woke up,” she says, walking to the toaster when the toasted slices spring out. “She can breathe mostly on her own, so that’s a good sign. Her fever is going down.”

Zoe takes out two mugs and starts to fill them with the freshly brewed coffee. “I am glad to hear that. How long will her recovery take?”

“Weeks, probably,” Shaw sighs. Something tells her that she has some very long weeks ahead of her. Root is already insufferable when she’s in good physical health but now her body is going to be her enemy for a while and it’s going to suck a lot. “Sorry, but we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.”

Zoe shrugs and hands her a mug. “That’s alright, don’t worry about it. I am out working most of the time anyway.”

“Any fun stories to share?” Shaw asks, glad to change the topic. Zoe has never been in Samaritan’s simulations so she’ll gladly take any story that will keep her grounded.

Zoe nods and smirks. “Oh yes.”

 

*

 

Three hours later, Root is awake again. Shaw is checking the IV pump when she hears Root shift next to her. She turns the oxygen flow off when Root takes the mask off to smile at her. “Hey,” she rasps and Shaw shakes her head.

“No talking unless it’s important,” she advises. She pulls the blanket away from Root’s chest and stares at the bandages that cover most of her chest. “How’s the pain? On a scale from 1 to 10? Use your fingers!” she tells her a little harshly when Root’s mouth opens to reply.

Root gives her a dirty little smirk and wiggles with her eyebrows.

Oh for fuck’s sake—

“Root,” Shaw groans, mostly annoyed at the tiniest spark of delight rushing through her chest.

Root pouts a little at her tone and then lifts five fingers.

“Are you sure?”

After a brief pause Root sighs and lifts the thumb of her other hand.

“Don’t lie about your pain because that’s dumb,” Shaw scolds her lightly, removing the bandages wrapped around her waist that cover the gauze over the gunshot that pierced through her side. The skin is still an angry red, but it’s not infected. No signs of blood poisoning.

Root watches her attentively.

Shaw gets some fresh gauze packs out of the bag and gets to work, trying to ignore Root’s warm look glued to her the whole time through.

 

*

 

Two days have passed since Root woke up and as predicted she’s a horrible patient. At least her recovery is going well so far. Her breathing is still a little ragged, but the O2 saturation is improving and Root doesn’t really need the oxygen mask anymore. She just uses it when she sleeps and only because Shaw wants to play it safe.

Still, Root seems to think her recovery should progress at light speed.

“Stop squirming.”

“I’m ticklish there,” Root whines; her voice is almost back to normal.

Shaw glares. “I don’t care. I don’t want to bump into your chest tube while—oh great, now I did,” she growls, watching Root wince in pain. “I’m gonna sedate you if you don’t stop.”

“Se _date_ me?” Root coos and then starts to cough. “Ouch.”

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Stop. Moving.”

“You guys are something else,” Zoe comments from her spot on the armchair, the newspaper she’s been trying to read long forgotten on the coffee table. She watches them while sipping her coffee.

Shaw glances at Zoe. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Morgan?”

“And miss this? No.”

Root smiles, first at Zoe and then at Shaw. “I already like her.”

“That’s the morphine talking,” Shaw says offhand. The IV pump is currently set to inject the lowest possible dose of morphine. Just enough to keep the pain at bay.

She finishes cleaning the area around the chest tube and then goes over to change the dressings of Root’s healing wounds.

Root keeps staring at her. “So, what’s the verdict, doctor? When will I be out of this bed?”

“Not so fast. In two or three days I’ll remove that chest tube. And then we start teaching your lungs to do their job properly again and getting your upper body strength slowly back.  And _then_ , maybe, we can talk again about leaving this bed for more than just bathroom breaks.”

“This sucks,” Root informs her and honest to god pouts. If she could right now, she would probably cross her arms.

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Next time, don’t catch bullets with your torso,” she advises and looks at her finished work. Then her gaze lands back on Root’s face.

Root looks serious for a brief moment, before the little playful smile that looks a little groggy returns. It’s the morphine kicking in. “And miss out on being nursed back to health by you?”

“Root,” Shaw warns, but it lacks any bite in it. Instead she stares at Root, not sure how else to communicate this … _thing._ It is lodged in her chest and seems to expand every time Root looks at her as if she’s all she can see. And she doesn’t know how to respond to that except to stare back.

It’s the sound of Zoe putting her empty mug down on the coffee table that breaks their staring.

Shaw shakes herself out of whatever that just was and ignores Root’s intense look to go to the IV pump and check the dosage again. Just to keep herself busy. And to avoid Root’s eyes at all cost. “You should rest,” she finally tells her patient. She reaches for the oxygen mask that Root could very well access on her own and puts it on.

And if she touches Root’s cheek it’s totally an accident.

She turns the oxygen flow on and watches Root slowly giving in to the pain meds that are stronger than her will.

Within a few minutes she’s fast asleep again.

“Your friend, huh?” Zoe quips behind her and Shaw decides to answer this with a huffed groan at the ceiling.

Zoe chuckles.

 

*

 

Reese and Fusco come by in the evening. Reese looks like shit but isn’t injured as far as she can tell. Just really tired. They both look like they could use some good sleep. Zoe takes their coats and asks Reese something in a low voice that Shaw doesn’t get.

Fusco walks over to them. “Good to see you in one piece, Cocoa Puffs,” he says when he stops at the armchair, his relief genuine. “How are your lungs doing?”

“Trying their best,” Root jokes and Fusco chuckles.

Shaw turns her head to the side to glare at her.

Root smiles at her and then continues eating her soup. The dish is placed on a wooden tray table that Zoe thankfully owns because otherwise someone would’ve had to feed Root. And knowing her luck and Zoe’s knowing eyes that someone would’ve been her. 

Reese, who is now behind Fusco gives her a funny look. She is tempted to throw a pillow at him. “Got you some clothes, Shaw,” he says and lifts a bag in his hand. “I had some help picking out the right size of…everything,” he explains and looks a little in pain. And it’s probably not because he has to watch what he says around Zoe.

Which doesn’t go unnoticed by her. “You mean Finch’s all-seeing creation?” Zoe asks with her arms crossed and head tilted, a small victorious smile on her lips.

They all gape at her, especially Reese.

In the end it’s Fusco who breaks the silence. “You told her about the Machine before you told me? What kind of friend are you?” he asks, disbelief written all over his face.

“John didn’t tell me anything,” Zoe says and there is this amused glint in her dark eyes.

Shaw looks down at her hands, hiding her own smirk.

Oh boy. Of course Zoe knows. “It’s part of my job to know everything. You didn’t think I would just accept your non-answer from back in the day when you saved me?”

“But since when—?”

“Does it matter? I have my ways, talked to the right kind of people—the usual. It’s no big deal, John. Your secret is safe with me. Although, I do wish you guys would do something about that new AI the government is using, because it is kind of ruining my business.”

Reese’s eyebrows and hairline almost become one.

“You and me both,” Shaw mumbles darkly.

“It can track you because you use just one name—yours,” Root suddenly says and pushes the tray table with the now empty soup plate away. “If you used rotating identities for things like flights, hotel reservations or booking a table in fancy restaurants, it would have trouble to keep up with you.”

“You sound like an expert, which I guess you are,” Zoe muses and seems to consider Root’s words.

Shaw looks back and forth between Root and Zoe, feeling like she’s witnessing something she isn’t supposed to see. Reese looks outright alarmed while Fusco is already waving his hand and turning away towards the front door, muttering something about “Nutter Butter expanding her identity theft empire.”

Well.

Reese clears his throat, giving Shaw an awkward half-smile. “Call me if there’s anything urgent,” he says and follows Fusco outside with quick steps.

“What would I need to do?” Zoe asks, looking genuinely interested in Root’s opinion.

Shaw, who is pretty much in between these two in her usual spot on the couch, has never felt more like a third wheel in her life. And she’s been alone in a room with Reese and Finch often enough.

“Nothing. I have some time on my hands now, so,” Root gives Zoe a wide smile. She’s practically _glowing_ with excitement. “All I need is a laptop.” And with that she looks at Shaw.

Shaw shakes her head a little and gets up to get Root her laptop with a deep sigh. The bag with Root’s ridiculous shit and her backpack with her laptop and other tech stuff is currently residing in Zoe’s guest room. She still hasn’t asked Root how the lava lamp and the bunny slippers ended up in her possession and are relevant enough for Reese to think she’d need them. (The black bat plushie is lying on the couch and Root surely has noticed it there, and yet she hasn’t said a word about it. Which is almost as bad as if Root had said something.)

When she gets back, she notes that Zoe took her place and is now listening intently to Root explaining to her how she’s going to gift her some new travel identities.

“Is that why the boys club kept you around?” Zoe asks and gives Shaw a short look. It’s the look of a woman who knows things Shaw would’ve never admitted out loud.

 _Ugh_.

“Among other things,” Root says with a tilted head before taking the laptop from Shaw. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Shaw tries to suppress the groan but fails when she turns away, feeling Zoe’s gleeful look on her back. She rolls her eyes when she hears how Root is descending into nerd talk hell.

She decides to take a long shower and inspect the clothes Reese brought her. Anything to stay away from the chaos project these two just started.

Their delighted laugh follows her into the hallway, but she isn’t as annoyed about the sound of Root’s laugh as she expected to be. 

 

*

 

“Sameen, please,” Root complains and looks at her with big pleading eyes. “The itching is getting worse.”

“No.” Shaw doesn’t even look up from her current time killer—dismantling and reassembling her gun and timing how fast she can do both.

Root answers with a dramatic sigh. “You know, I could just do it myself.”

Shaw’s head snaps up. “You can barely walk on your own. How do you want to get it done yourself? You’d need to get to bathroom,” she reminds her, trying not to sound too gleeful about her upper hand here. “Better lighting there,” she adds.

“I’m a big girl, I am sure I can figure it out,” Root huffs and slowly sits up. The face she makes tells a story of stubbornness combined with pain.

It gives Shaw a pause. She has no doubt that Root is very serious about ripping her stitches out on her own and probably doing more harm than good. If she ever reaches the bathroom on her own that is.

Shaw finishes putting her P226R together and places it gently on the coffee table. “The stitches should stay in a few more days.” She tries to sound stern, but this is not the first time Root has brought this up, so she ends up sounding irritated and tired. Whatever, her point is still the same.

“It’s been over a week since surgery. I am getting better,” Root argues and crosses her arms before she remembers the open wound of the removed chest tube and thinks better of it. 

Root’s recovery is making good progress; it’s just too slow for Root’s taste. Root, who is used to run errands for the Machine a few days after getting hurt. But this time she almost _died_. Her body needs to heal and as much as Root tries to speed up things by sheer will, it doesn’t work like that.

Root tilts her head. “Please?”

Shaw knows that the wounds have started to heal quite nicely already. That’s why they itch so much.

She musters the gun on the table. “If I remove your stitches, will you stop whining so much?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Root says with a small smile, perking up at the possibility of winning this discussion. “But I will stop asking you to scratch me where it itches.” The widening smile is an innuendo in itself.

Shaw frowns. “You never asked me to do that.”

“But I am going to if you don’t remove the stitches,” Root threatens, her smile never wavering. 

Root’s idea of being a patient is basically getting what she wants through clever blackmailing. And the worst part is that Shaw’s resolve always starts to crumble after enough time has passed. 

At least Zoe (armed with her new identities to travel around) left the city for three days last night, so she isn’t going to witness this. Again.

Shaw closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Takes a deep breath. Counts to three. “Fine,” she gives in. “We can do it after dinner.”

“Why wait,” Root says, scooting closer to the edge of her bed. “I have time now.”

Shaw gives her a long look. “Whatever,” she sighs and gets up. At this point Root has won anyway. She pauses the infusion, starts to unbutton Root’s red shirt. She takes the cables out of the electrodes, and the pulse oximetry off and waits for Root to move her legs out of the bed. Root’s button up shirt is only half buttoned up now, revealing Root’s completely bandaged chest.

Shaw holds her hands out to help Root get on her feet.

Root breathes hard and winces and tries desperately to look like she isn’t still in immense pain whenever she moves out of the bed. “I am fine,” she grits out between gasps, biting her lower lip. “ _I’m fine_.”

“Okay, Pinocchio.”

“I am,” Root insists in a low growl, but grips Shaw’s arm even more tightly despite her own words.

Shaw just shakes her head instead of commenting on this blatant lie. “Ready when you are,” she says and watches how Root slips with her bare feet into her white bunny slippers, all while giving herself a mumbled pep talk. Shaw isn’t sure how she didn’t really notice it before, but Root talks to herself _a lot_.

Another thing Samaritan obviously didn’t get right, so rather than being really annoyed by it she welcomes it in her mind with open arms. She would never admit it out loud, though.

(Maybe to Bear. He’s good at keeping secrets.)

“Alright, let’s go,” Root says and Shaw slips her arm around Root’s waist and allows her to lean most of her weight against her. She can’t lift Root’s right arm and put it around her shoulder because last time she tried that Root almost doubled over with pain. So she kind of uses her whole body to guide Root with each step and make sure her body doesn’t lean too much to the other side.

The fact that no flirty comment follows says a lot about the pain level Root is moving in currently. It’s better than a few days ago, though. Shaw had to half-carry her to the bathroom and then back again.

“You need a break?” Shaw asks when they walk past the armchair.

There is fierce determination in Root’s eyes. “No,” she hisses and soldiers on.

Shaw is impressed, even if there is a little bit of worry in the mix. But she allows Root to set the pace and it takes them only two minutes to reach the bathroom door. Shaw pushes it open, turns the lights on and helps Root to sit down on the closed toilet.

Root’s smile is filled with relief and pride. Shaw notices the beads of sweat on her forehead, but she says nothing. “I’ll get the things we need. Wait here,” she mumbles and turns around.

“Sure, sweetie. It’s not like I can leave on my own anyway,” Root’s voice follows her outside into the hallway and she snorts.

Shaw goes to Enright’s bag and gets some surgical scissors, tweezers, rubbing alcohol, antibiotic ointment, some clean dressings and cotton balls, and a pair of gloves out. Then she walks to the kitchen to fill up the water boiler to sterilize the tools. She fills the boiling water into a pot and puts the scissors and the tweezers inside. Next she dries both and applies some of that rubbing alcohol on both. Once she’s done she puts the gloves on and carries everything she needs to the bathroom.

Root is leaning with her head against the wall and opens her eyes when she hears Shaw’s steps. “Is the doctor ready to see me?” She still sounds a little tuckered out from their walk here.

“Shut up,” Shaw gently advises, putting everything down next to the sink. Then she opens the cabinet underneath it to get out a small plastic bowl and she fills it with warm water and adds some soap to it. She dries her gloved hands and walks over to Root.

“Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

Shaw sighs, gets down to her knees and unbuttons the rest of the shirt. “Lean against the wall and try not to move once I start removing the stitches, okay?”

Root just nods, looking down at her with half-lidded eyes.

When Shaw is done taking off the bandages she focuses solely on the stitched up areas of Root’s bare chest. “I’m gonna start with the wound on the side,” Shaw decides, only telling Root this so she can prepare herself for some discomfort there. Removing stitches shouldn’t hurt per se, but there will be some pulling.

She reaches for the little bowl and starts cleaning the area around the stitches. The rosy skin looks like it healed quite nicely. She dries it gently off with a towel and uses some rubbing alcohol to clean mainly the parts where the stitches sit. Root is almost motionless and when Shaw sneaks a look at her face she sees that Root’s eyes are closed.

It’s oddly therapeutic to do something that is familiar to her. For once she doesn’t think about things like how to destroy Samaritan for good or if this is all really happening or if she is still trapped in a simulation.

The list of things she still has some difficulties coping with when Root is asleep is troublesome.

Her sleep remains terrible and she keeps waking up multiple times during the night. Her sense of time has yet to return and sometimes she zones out and ends up in places she doesn’t even remember going to. Last night she stood in the bathroom staring at her reflection for who knows how long until Root’s sleepy voice calling her name pulled her back into present time. It reminded her so much of the simulations that she ignored Root’s worried questions and tried to force herself to fall back to sleep once she returned to the couch.

At least the headaches are getting less intense. Small victories.

She knows Root knows. Root might be forced to spend most of the time in bed but somehow she knows anyway. In a way it’s good that at least one person is aware what’s up and that it’s at the same time the only person that doesn’t force her to talk about it.

Shaw uses another cotton ball to apply some of the antibiotic ointment on the now stitch free wound. She changes the position and moves between Root’s legs.

Root opens her eyes and lifts an eye brow.

“Ready for round two?” Shaw husks out, softly tapping against the stitches right above Root’s breast bone.

Root just nods.

 

*

 

The last day before Zoe returns from her trip is almost over. It’s close to midnight and Shaw is dreading sleep more and more. The TV is on showing some old sitcom re-run. She barely registers what happens on screen.

Shaw keeps trying to cheat throughout the day by taking naps when Root takes them just to get some sort of rest.

And she is still stuck inside Zoe’s apartment. Being holed up in one place and not being able to leave the loft is starting to make her skin itch. The cabin fever is getting to her and she feels like she could climb walls. The small trips to the grocery store are quite frankly the only thing that makes this situation somewhat bearable. It’s not completely like being kept in one room by Samaritan, but damn if it isn’t a close second.

She hates feeling this way.

It’s not something she wants to share with Root. She knows it will make her feel bad and from a logical standpoint that wouldn’t benefit her recovery at all, which in Shaw’s mind comes first. Besides, she isn’t even sure if sharing her own current state would help her. Talking solves nothing.

Shaw empties the glass she’s refilled for the second time with some whiskey she found in Zoe’s kitchen. It doesn’t really make her feel any better, but it does numb her restlessness a little. She leans her head back against the headrest of the couch and exhales, closing her eyes.

The problem isn’t just the lack of sleep. It’s the fact that even sleeping feels like a dream and therefore doesn’t feel like rest to her anymore. Everything feels real and not real at the same time, and the overwhelming sense of this… drifting state is taking a toll on Shaw slowly but surely. It’s the inescapability of it all that gnaws on her nerves.

She’s gonna set at least one of Samaritan’s servers on fire for that. Fuck that wired piece of shit.

She lies down on the couch, pulls the blanket over her body and leaves the TV on to have some background noise.

It helps only a little to fall asleep.

 

*

 

“Shaw,” Root sighs the next night into the darkness of the living room.

Shaw immediately stops moving. She’s been tossing and turning around on that couch for minutes now ever since she’d woken up from her first round of nightmares. The clock of Zoe’s DVD Player says it’s 2:14 am.

She swallows and touches the back of Bear’s head who is resting on the floor next to the couch. Fusco had left him here after his short visit in the afternoon. He’d also brought them his son’s old Wii console. They haven’t tried it out yet.

“What’s wrong?” Root asks in a small tired voice and Shaw hates it.

The problem with Root is that this woman has somehow figured her out and just _knows_ things before Shaw has to spell them out. She’s come to… tolerate this a lot about Root, even likes it sometimes.

Not right now, though. Now she’s in this uncomfortable position to either lie to Root or to admit that she has some serious trouble to get sleep. There is no winning because both will upset Root.

Which kinda goes against her book. It’s the opposite of what she’s trying to do here. Root should focus on her own recovery.

Root makes a determined sound and Shaw doesn’t have to look up to see that she’s now sitting up and swinging her legs out of her bed to sit next to Shaw. She doesn’t stop her. She doesn’t complain when Bear gets up and walks away when Root shuffles closer to the couch, trying to keep her breathing slow and even. She even sits up to make her room.

Root sits down next to her and sighs. “Hi there,” she whispers.

Shaw leans over to the other end of the couch where some fancy reading lamp is standing and turns it on. Then she moves back to Root, her blanket squished between them. She doesn’t meet her gaze, just stares at the coffee table in front of her.

Minutes pass.

And then: “Since when?”

“A while,” Shaw mumbles back, aware of what Root is asking.

Root shifts next to her. “Is that why you left the TV running last night?”

Shaw’s hand wanders to her neck and rubs the spot behind her left ear. Sometimes she just doesn’t trust the fact that there is nothing there. “Yeah,” she eventually says and drops her hand onto the blanket between them. “The noise helps a little. And the bullshit running on TV sometimes makes me sleepy.”

Root hums. “Your subconscious needs a constant reminder you are not… there anymore, right?”

Shaw gives one short nod.

Root is very silent next to her. For a moment Shaw wonders if Root is going to fall asleep but then she feels a movement beside her and Root’s pinky touching hers. “We should play a game,” she whispers into her ear and Shaw can hear the smile in her words. “Lionel did bring us a Wii with Mario Kart after all.”

Shaw grins before she can help it. “I’m gonna wipe the streets with your ass,” she promises and gets up to get everything ready.

Game on.

 

*

“Fuck you, Root. How do you have a blue shell again? _What the fuck is this?_ ” Shaw watches how Root’s Baby Peach in a stroller is fucking up her Bowser in a muscle car with yet another blue shell. Fuck this. She goes from 1st place to 5th place because of that.

“I’m just lucky.”

Before Shaw can dive into the first round of insults she can think of, Zoe’s bedroom door opens and sleepy steps shuffle closer to them. Zoe yawns, stares at the running Mario Kart game and then at them. She looks really done.

“Are you guys serious?”

“We couldn’t sleep,” Shaw says slowly, trying to sound more apologetic than defensive. Which is hard, because the game isn’t over and Root is only two places behind her.

Zoe sighs. “I know that you two aren’t used to stay low for so long in one place, but I need my sleep, Shaw.”

“I am not the only one being loud here,” Shaw defends herself, still holding Zoe’s gaze but nodding at Root.

“You know what woke me up? You, yelling ‘stop being a dick, Root’.”

Yeah, that does sound like something she would yell. “Sorry.”

“Whatever, I think I am just going to stay at Reese’s apartment. It’s closer to my current client anyway,” she says and Shaw is sure she only said that to make them feel less bad.

“The game is over now, so we won’t keep you up any longer,” Root tells her and when Shaw looks at the screen she sees Baby Peach doing a victory dance on the podium. Root really has snatched the 1st place from her.  

Unbelievable. Shaw glares daggers at her.

Zoe yawns again. “Alright, kids. Goodnight. And don’t forget to turn the TV off.” Then the door closes behind her and the room is silent again, save for the cheerful tune from the game.

“Was the Machine messing with this?”

Root flips her hair a little. “She would never.”

“Oh my god, that’s a yes.” Shaw shoves Root’s shoulder lightly but only out of respect for her still healing wounds. All it earns her is an amused chuckle. She could punch her. “Of course you’d be a sore loser so you would cheat to win,” she grumbles and purses her lips.

“But that’s the point, Sam,” Root smiles, sweet and innocent. It’s her eyes that twinkle with mischief. “I can’t be a sore loser if I don’t lose.”

“This is bullshit,” Shaw curses in a low voice, putting the white wheel with the Wii remote in it on the coffee table. Bear, who is lying at her feet lifts his head and blinks sleepily at her. At least one of them gets some rest no matter what.

Root follows her example with the Wii remote, even if the loud exhale from leaning forward betrays her pain. “Do you feel sleepy yet?”

“No,” Shaw sighs and scratches Bear behind his ears.

Root hums and seems to be lost in thought. Or listening to the Machine’s rambling. Or both. “I have an idea. But you have to help me a bit,” she says suddenly.

Shaw looks up to meet her gaze. “No, we will not try out the bed in Zoe’s guest room,” she tells her, confident that that’s where Root’s mind went.

Root flashes her a wide smile. “Cute, but I had something different in mind.”

 

*

 

Shaw ends up carrying bedcovers and pillows out of Zoe’s guestroom to some unknown destination because Root is being a little shit about her idea. She’s too tired to argue about this though so she just follows her, her gun tucked into the waistband of her PJ pants.

At least Bear is allowed to go with them.

They stop in front of the elevator and once it stops on their floor they get inside. Root pushes the button for the top floor. Shaw frowns at that but she keeps the confusion to herself. Is Root going to make her sit through a night-picnic on the roof deck?

Root winces when she moves a little too fast after the doors slide open.

Shaw, starting to feel ridiculous with her arms full, looks at Root. “You okay there?”

“Yes,” Root nods and walks them to the door that leads to the rooftop. Shaw wasn’t aware this building offered something like that. Then again, she’s never asked because her mind was busy with other things.

It’s really fresh up here, which shouldn’t be a surprise for a November night. Shaw finds the cold soothing. It clears her mind and makes her feel like she can breathe a little lighter now.

She looks to Root who is wearing her bloody leather jacket from the incident with the Samaritan sniper. Now it makes more sense why she’s wearing this.

Still, Shaw is pretty sure that Root shouldn’t be out in the cold like this in her state anyway, but she keeps it to herself because this woman is stubborn enough to ignore her wellbeing in the name of helping Shaw.

It’s dumb as hell.

Root stops in front of some sheltered part of the rooftop, where loungers are lined up in a row. There are small lights in the ceiling and three black planks of some sort. A dark blue draft shield is in place at the side to protect this place from the cold breeze around them. There is an open herb garden nearby, its smell is strong without being bothersome. Lights are lined up on the floor alongside the parapet of the roof.

The city is glowing around them in the dark, the busy nightlife buzzing and humming through the air.

Shaw blinks. “What are we doing up here? Stargazing until we freeze to death?” she grumbles, dropping duvets and pillows onto the lounger closest to her. Bear is already getting comfortable on the next one.

Root smiles at them both. “Light pollution makes that a little hard here,” she says and then nods to the ceiling. “And we won’t freeze because these heatstrips are very efficient.”

Oh, these are heaters. Shaw shakes her head a little. “But—” she starts and stops herself. Sleeping outside won’t kill her per se if she covers herself properly. Her shoulders relax a little.

“You could give it a try.” Root steps closer. “Please,” she breathes with just a few inches left between their faces. Shaw turns her head and follows Root’s request—and she makes sure to look extra grumpy while doing it.

Judging by Root’s amused smile she’s absolutely not buying it. Whatever.

Shaw takes a pillow and bedcover from the pile she made on one of the loungers and picks one of the wider ones right under one of those heatstrips. She puts her gun under the pillow before sitting down. The grey cushion of what seems to be a double lounger is super soft and Shaw sighs when she lies down. Sweet Jesus. She closes her eyes and is ready to try and fall asleep when she hears rustling next to her.

“Shaw?”

“No.”

“But sharing heat might save your life,” Root tells her and the amused smile is evident in her tone.

Shaw opens her eyes and glares at her. “Can you just lie down, shut up and let me try to sleep?” she accuses her half-heartedly, already shuffling to the side until she hits the wooden armrest of the lounger with her arm.

Root sits down and pats her pillow. “Who’s the sore loser now,” she says under her breath, but Shaw hears it anyway. She glowers at Root, who is busy lifting the backrest of her side of the lounger up so she can continue to sleep in a half sitting position like she did for the past days on the stretcher.

Shaw yawns.

Root lies down and groans only a little while doing so. Then she wiggles around under her own bed cover to find a comfortable position. Once she’s done she exhales and turns her head to catch Shaw staring at her.

Shaw doesn’t look away. “Now what, genius?”

Bear jumps onto the lounger and starts getting comfortable between their legs. He rests his head on Shaw’s leg and it makes her smile.

“The noise, the breeze up here, the smell of herbs around us, even the lights—it all should make you feel a little less… trapped inside a room you can’t get out,” Root explains, a serious look in her tired eyes. “Maybe it will calm your subconscious enough to let you get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

Shaw closes her eyes, highly aware that Root’s shoulder is touching hers. It’s odd to even consider sleeping out here like this, she thinks. Then again, this is kind of the idea. To do things out of the ordinary, to break the cycle. “If I get a cold because of you, I’ll kill you.”

Root chuckles at that.

 

*

 

Bear licking Shaw’s hand is what wakes her up the next morning. Root is still asleep next to her, her hair covering most of her face but not hiding the fact that she’s lightly snoring. Root’s hand also somehow snuck its way around Shaw’s hand. It takes her a few seconds to free her hand from Root’s grip.

Shaw rubs the sleep out of her eyes and then she sits up to stretch a little. The winter sun isn’t up high just yet, it must be something around 8 am.

It’s only when Shaw starts petting Bear’s head and allowing him to lick her face that she’s hit by the realization that she has slept for hours with no interruption.

Shaw burrows her face into Bear’s warm fur and smiles a little.

There is some rustling next to her and when Shaw lifts her head she see how Root is watching them. “How did you sleep?”

“Better.”

“Good. Because we have some work to do,” Root sighs and then yawns.

Shaw tilts her head. “What are you talking about?” Root’s mobility is still limited and she highly doubts the Machine is not aware of that fact.

Root makes a serious face. “Reese has a lead on Harold.”

“Finally.” Shaw gets up. “Where is he?”

Root shakes her head when she sees Shaw’s reaction. “On his way to Washington DC.”

“What? Why would he go to Washington with a busted cover identity?” Shaw blinks in confusion. What the hell is he doing?

Then again, they still have no clue what exactly happened at the precinct and what the Machine’s role in that whole break out was. Or what these two are up to now.

There better be a good explanation for this.

“I don’t know,” Root says thoughtfully. She’s miles away.

Shaw sits down again, her shoulders slumped. “Reese went after him, didn’t he.” It’s not even a question. Of course he did. And now their team is basically down to Fusco and an ASI being powered by video game consoles in some long forgotten subway station Shaw can’t even go to.

Things are not looking good for them.

“There must be a reason, She just won’t let me see the bigger picture. It’s odd,” Root mumbles, slowly coming back to present time. “They seem to work on something, I just don’t know on what.”

“In Washington?”

“The Machine and I have a pact: Samaritan’s demise has priority over anything else now. I added some lines of code to focus solely on things relevant for this fight. It’s just temporary,” she quickly adds when Shaw’s frown deepens.

“Did you tell Finch that?”

“I didn’t get the chance to explain it fully,” Root admits and shrugs, followed by a slight wince. “It doesn’t matter now. Whatever Harold is busy with, we should still figure out how to end Samaritan’s existence.”

“We?”

Root nods and her eyes glow with the promise of… something. “I have a plan.”


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN THIS FIC. but this year has been difficult and chapter 3 didn't cooperate with me from the get go. may i present you the 4th rewrite of this chapter (that got longer and longer each time, kudos to my beta weytani for soldiering through this 12k words long Mess™). 
> 
> fingers crossed it was worth waiting for this because i honestly can't tell anymore oops

Doing groceries sounds like one of the most mundane things in the world.

However, Shaw finds that she can no longer agree with that sentiment. It’s not the task itself that keeps her on edge and makes her observe everyone and everything around her—it’s mainly the fact that she’s outside, only protected by her gun tucked into the back of her denims.

Her senses are on high alert from the moment she ties Bear’s leash to a lamppost outside the corner store she picked a few days ago to do the groceries. And each time she’s unsettled despite the fact that it’s only three blocks away from Zoe’s apartment building. A comfortable walking distance for her and Bear, and close enough to race back in case Root calls.

Shaw makes sure her cap is resting low enough on her head so that most of her face will be covered when she inevitably walks past a camera inside the store. She tries to avoid it, but she hasn’t found every camera in that store yet, she suspects.

She drapes the hood of her worn hoodie over the cap, just to be sure. It’s still way too cold to walk around in the crisp winter air of this November morning in nothing but a shirt and that hoodie. She really needs to get her hands on a jacket.

But the cold also makes her feel alive and in the moment, her blood thumping through her body and reminding her that in the simulations she hasn’t felt much except for pain and dread of her own next moves—until the bitter end.

Shaw swallows, straightens her posture a little and glances at Bear who blinks back at her. He is completely relaxed and used to staying outside for a few minutes while she marches through that store with a basket in her hand.

She sighs and walks inside, relaxing a little when the warmth of the store embraces her.

She takes a basket from a bunch that are stocked next the entrance, gives a wordless nod to the checkout clerk and takes Root’s grocery list out of the left pocket of her hoodie.

For someone who can change their handwriting depending on the identity of the day, Root’s own handwriting is shit. It’s a jumbled mess of fast dotted down scribbles, as if Root wanted this list to be done as soon as possible.

It’s an anchor of sorts, as reassuring as things can get for Shaw and her reality questioning issues.

Doesn’t mean her paranoia disappears like that. When she puts milk into her basket, she keeps an eye on the dude who is busy refilling the cereal shelf. He doesn’t look her way, but that means nothing. In the simulations, something (Samaritan) always triggered their behavior. Like a light switch turned on.

Shaw shuffles past him, puts four cups of yoghurt with honey into her basket and moves on. She tries to relax when she gets the other stuff from the messy list. Trying to decipher the handwriting is a good way to keep her mind distracted from all the possible ways this could be a simulation. One that’s just running longer than the others before.

It gets easier when she pays. No bloody wound behind her left ear, because there is still no chip she’d tried to pry out with a barely disinfected knife.

“Have a good day,” the cashier says.

Shaw simply nods in response and walks out with her two grocery bags. Bear springs up when he spots her and wags his tail.

It’s still pretty early. Barely an hour has passed since she woke up on the roof from a fairly restful sleep cycle. Of course her sleep problem is not fixed by that, and she probably won’t suddenly sleep any better, but for the moment it is enough.

Her focus is on her surroundings and the people hurrying past her when she loosens the knot of Bear’s leash around the post. Balancing the two bags in one hand, she gets a good grip on the leash and starts walking towards Zoe’s apartment building.

Shivering a little in the cold, Shaw takes the shortest route and mostly pays attention to every dark car or person dressed in a suit. She looks out for Samaritan agents that might somehow have managed to track her down. Shaw has lived through this often enough to know why her shoulders are so tense and why each step seems to become a little faster.

She really needs to get off the streets.

If it wasn’t just Bear walking next to her she’d be almost embarrassed by how loud her sigh of relief is once she enters the apartment complex. And by sheer luck or the Machine’s subtle interference, the elevator is already waiting for her when she approaches it. She slips inside, pushes the button for the floor of Zoe’s apartment and leans against the wall, the grocery bags rustling in her hand.

Bear gives her a happy huff.

 

*

 

When Shaw enters the apartment, Root is still sitting on the couch with her legs crossed, an open laptop resting on her lap. She’s pretty much in the same position she’s been in since Shaw left with Bear to do groceries.

The instant relief to see her catches Shaw off guard and makes her frown at Bear, who is patiently waiting for her to take the leash off.

“Oh, you’re back,” Root calls from her spot, as if she has just now noticed that she is no longer alone. And going by her dreamy look at the laptop display from a few moments ago, she’s been too distracted by whatever she’s doing there to hear Shaw entering the apartment.

Shaw watches Bear run off to greet Root and get some ear scratches from her. Shaw sees from the corner of her eyes while walking with the grocery bags to the kitchen how Root puts the laptop aside to comply with Bear’s wishes.

It doesn’t take long to hear the familiar strained groan from Root, who stands up to shuffle to the kitchen. And when Shaw glances over her shoulder, Root is there, watching her with a thoughtful smile. “How was your walk?”

Shaw shrugs. “I need a warmer jacket,” she blurts out, starting to put the items away that need to be in the fridge, except for two yoghurt cups. She’s going to need them for Root’s breakfast.

“The Machine can order you one.”

“Isn’t that too risky?”

“Not if we use Zoe’s credit card information.”

Shaw shakes her head and takes another item out of the bag. “Zoe is going to love that.”

“We’ll pay her back,” Root says with confidence in her words, and then shifts when she spots something in one of the bags that catches her interest. “Oh, you got the Pop Tarts I wanted!” There is genuine happiness in Root’s voice, and for a moment Shaw forgets how they are technically still in the midst of a more and more hopeless looking ASI war, and that Root still hasn’t completely recovered from her almost fatal injuries and—

Root kisses her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers with a smile in her tone.

Shaw doesn’t look at her and pretends to be super busy with the rest of the groceries. “I almost didn’t get them because your handwriting is awful and I could barely read your grocery list,” she says and sounds kind of breathless instead of on the verge of annoyance.

Root leans with her lower back against the counter and inspects the Pop Tart box that promises stickers inside. “Not everyone can write in boring block letters like you or John,” she muses and turns the package in her hands. “My handwriting is unique.”

Shaw gives her a look but says nothing.

Root grins back at her.

Shaw sighs. “How’s your appetite?” she asks next, putting away the milk and the ridiculous cheese strings Root requested. Next she takes the two packs of deep frozen Eggo waffles and puts them into the freezer.

Root’s demeanor changes slightly, mostly because she hates thinking about her recovery since it still isn’t going the speed she wants it to. “Not really there, but I can eat something,” Root promises and lifts the Pop Tarts package with a wiggle of her eye brows.

“No.”

“It’s food!”

“That’s a snack at best,” Shaw counters.

“So you are making a fruit salad instead?” Root challenges her, as if it wasn’t better than Pop Tarts.

“Strawberry flavor does not count as fruit, Root.”

Root just huffs.

Shaw rolls her eyes. When it comes to Root’s eating habits, Shaw had made the shocking discovery a few days ago that nothing has changed and Root still eats like a child—it’s hard to get her to eat regularly, and part of it is because of her injuries and the meds she has to take, but some of it is just Root not being used to having someone other than the Machine nagging her to fucking eat something.

Root grabs into the bag that still isn’t empty and takes out some medical tape. “What’s that for?” she asks and looks at Shaw.

“Weren’t you whining earlier about wanting to take a real shower?”

Root’s eyes light up with the wide smile she quickly tones down by biting her lower lip. Shaw can pinpoint the exact moment something dirty enters Root’s mind, just by staring into her eyes. “Someone has to wash my hair,” Root husks out and leans her head towards Shaw.

Shaw smiles back with amusement and folds the now empty grocery bags together. “You can ask Bear.”

She almost snorts when she sees Root’s pout. “You are no fun,” Root accuses her with a low grumble and crosses her arms, flinching a little. Her left arm still moves a little slower than her right arm, but Shaw is fairly certain that Root is just trying not to overstep the boundaries her body has set up for now.

“I’m too hungry for this,” Shaw announces when she walks back to the counter, after shoving the bags into the plastic box where Zoe keeps her grocery bags. “You can peel two bananas and cut them into pieces.”

Root agrees with a long-suffering sigh. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

 

*

 

“Lean a bit forward so I can—yep, okay. Done,” Shaw announces and steps away from Root after helping her put on a fresh shirt. Her hair is still wet and so is half of the bathroom. It’s a good thing that Zoe left so early in the morning so she doesn’t have to witness this disaster. Shaw is going to wipe it dry later. Probably.

Root stares at her from her spot with dark, serious eyes. “Thank you,” she says and it’s filled with so much, something that Shaw is certain to feel on her skin if she steps closer or if she stares back at Root for long enough but—

She shrugs. “It’s nothing,” she says and throws away the used medical tape and the cut out pieces of an unused trash bag she used to protect Root’s bandaged wounds. Soaking them with lukewarm soap water would’ve ruined the healing progress they’ve made so far.

Shaw’s about to walk outside of the bathroom when Root’s right hand grabs her wrist, softly and gentle enough for Shaw to flinch away from the touch if she wanted to. “We need to talk,” she says and it sounds like whatever it is, it’s nothing good.

Shaw blinks at her and looks down at Root’s fingers still around her wrist. Her stomach drops a little at Root’s tone and what it implies. “Did something happen to John?”

“No, he’s fine. I think,” Root mumbles, and there is pause where the Machine probably confirms that Reese is fine and still alive and doing some stupid, heroic solo trip. “That’s not what we need to talk about.”

“Okay.”

“It’s about our plan to take down Samaritan,” Root urges on, a tentative smile on her lips.

Shaw doesn’t understand what it means or why it’s directed at her. She furrows her brows, anger flaring up in her chest. “If you think you’re going somewhere with guns blazing and the Machine babbling in your ear to save the world then you’re—”

Root shakes her head and effectively stops Shaw from continuing her tirade. “That part comes later,” she admits with a wave of her hand. Shaw is about to start another rant about how dismissing her own safety is what got her into trouble the last time and will get her killed if she doesn’t stop, but she never gets the chance. Root steps a little closer, dropping Shaw’s wrist in the process.

“Just tell me,” Shaw sighs, crossing her arms and trying to fathom why Root treats her like a package labeled “attention: glass inside”.

“You won’t like it.”

“Root,” Shaw warns one last time.

Root takes a deep breath. “I need a few things from the subway.”

 _Oh_.

 

*

 

Shaw’s not sure how long she’s been staring at Bear chewing on his own pair of white bunny slippers. It’s easy to see that they belong to him and not to Root because they are much dirtier than Root’s pair and one slipper is missing an ear already. But he looks happy enough with what’s left of his two toys that are not meant for dogs.

“And there is no other way to finish the virus?” Shaw checks one more time, well aware of the answer she’ll get. Her hands are resting on her thighs, no longer curled into fists.

She can feel Root’s eyes on her, can sense the worry radiating off her body so close next to Shaw’s on the couch. It helps only a little with the cold, crawling dread that has settled in her stomach, heavy like stones.

“If there was another way… I mean, I suppose I could ask Lionel to drive me there, but he’s never been there before. Plus, the Machine says that he’s swamped with work thanks to John’s sudden departure,” Root explains, and it sounds…wistful.

Shaw’s head snaps up to look at her. “What? How can Lionel not know where our hidden base of operation is?”

“John told him about the Machine pretty much around the time you came back to New York, give or take,” Root muses and puts a wet hair strand out of her view.

Shaw groans. “That’s stupid on so many levels,” she fumes in a low voice. “Why did you guys wait so long? I thought after the stock market exchange—” She doesn’t finish the sentence when she sees the shadow pass over Root’s pale face and just shrugs.

“It wasn’t my call to decide that,” Root says.

“Yeah, of course not,” Shaw says without missing a beat and looks away, realizing that the bitterness in her voice that is not directed at Root could come across as such. This is not the first time they are sitting on a couch, talking about what could’ve been if things were different. But things aren’t different and Shaw would rather try to figure out their current mess than to get lost in too many what ifs.

There is no point in wondering what could’ve been if some things went differently.

Over seven thousand goddamn simulations taught her better than that.

Her head starts to hurt.

Root watches her carefully, seemingly not sure what to say right away. Or maybe she’s listening to whatever the Machine is telling her right now. “It was safer for Lionel to keep him in the dark. For him and his son,” Root eventually says, not reprimanding her, neither with her tone nor her look. She’s just stating a fact.

“I know,” Shaw says, much calmer. “So. The subway.”

“I could try to write as much as possible without the code, but the time I’d be spending correcting things and adjusting them to—”

“I get it,” Shaw interrupts her firmly. The back of her neck prickles uncomfortably and her headache seems to get worse by the minute. “I just—” She can’t even finish the sentence, her palms feel cold and sweaty at the same time.

Root nods in understanding. She sits cross legged on the couch, her body facing Shaw’s. That’s how she’s been sitting ever since she started to explain her plan on how to destroy the ruling overlord AI. The beginning of the plan was promising enough: Root will write a virus that will hopefully manage to break Samaritan apart from the inside within 24 hours. She doesn’t know the specifics on how the virus will do it, but Root promised to explain everything to her, once she’s done writing it. And besides, if there is one person she trusts to know how to fuck up an AI, it’s “I wrote the Null Worm and infected around 7 million computers worldwide in less than a week in 2009” Root.

The virus is not what she’s too worried about.

It’s the part leading up to finishing that virus.

That’s where they are stuck now.

Root needs some laptop from the damn subway.

And Shaw resents the idea to let her go on her own. And while she knows that Fusco is a capable cop and not half bad with a gun—it’s not the same as trusting her own observation skills and aim.

Shaw looks back at Bear, still busy with the slippers. “We don’t even know if the subway is still safe,” Shaw slowly starts, not sure where she is going with her resistance here. It’s pointless; there is no other damn way. It’s clear that she’s trying to buy herself some time to ease body and mind into the idea of going anywhere near the subway. Last time Root suggested that, she’d pulled a gun on her. Fun times.

Root nods along, as if sensing what Shaw is doing. She probably is. “The Machine would warn me, though,” she says softly.

Shaw huffs a little. “Maybe they are already watching it, and if we go _there_ —” Her fingers twitch and start to curl on her thighs a little, her finger nails digging into her denims, probably hard enough to leave marks on her skin.

“Reese has been there several times since Finch’s cover was blown,” Root reminds her gently. “I think I should be fairly safe to get in there, take what I need and come back out of it.”

“You shouldn’t go alone to—!”

“I won’t ask you to go down there with me,” Root says, putting a hand over Shaw’s, a warm reassuring weight on her knuckles. “I’ll ask Bear.”

Shaw’s lips twitch and she snorts.

Root relaxes a little at her reaction and takes her hand away again. There is still a small crinkle on her forehead that Shaw doesn’t like, because it’s only ever there when she’s really worried about something—something she’s seen countless times when the Machine hadn’t talked to her in a while. “You can wait in the car,” Root eventually says and sighs. “Armed and ready to kill any Samaritan agent if you spot any.”

Shaw bristles a little at the idea of staying in a car so close to that one place she’s been guarding in her mind with her sanity against Samaritan. As long as this wired piece of shit is online she’ll never be able to go there without feeling like she’s about to be sick or like her head is about to split open.

(Shaw tries to imagine a world where Samaritan is dead and where she can be herself again, but she knows better. Some things just don’t vanish.)

The irony of this situation is that Root needs to go there to get something that will help them to cripple and finally defeat Samaritan.

Shaw sighs in defeat. “Fine,” she rasps out, flexing her fingers over her knees. “But you have to drive. Just in case.”

Root’s posture barely changes, she simply nods. If anything, she looks a little taken aback by Shaw’s suggestion for her to drive, considering that this is usually her part. But not this time. Someone who can barely stand to do groceries and walk the dog around a few blocks shouldn’t drive to the one place that makes her hands tremble.

“I promise it won’t take long,” Root says. “I just have to snap some pictures of some string of code, take some of Harold’s notes with me.”

Shaw looks up. “And then you can finish the killer virus for Samaritan?”

Root scoots closer to bump her shoulder into Shaw’s. “Yes,” she smiles and the relief on her face is almost enough to stop Shaw’s growing restlessness at the prospect of going near the subway station.

Almost.

 

*

 

Five hours later.

Root left the car with Bear over a minute ago, and Shaw has a hard time focusing on anything but the rising panic in her chest. This is wrong. What if she’s been tricked into thinking this isn’t a simulation, to ease her into the idea of giving away where they are hiding? What if she never escaped and Root’s life never actually was in any danger because it’s all made up?

Shaw’s breathing speeds up. The gun in her hand feels not real, almost like a piece of plastic that won’t do any real damage if she pulls the trigger now. She doesn’t even remember pulling it out. Why is she holding it? Has she been holding it the whole drive here? It’s just like in the simulations, suddenly she ends up holding things, doing things and—

She’s also holding the blindfold that Root put over her eyes before they climbed into the stolen car to drive here. Just to calm her mind down a little. Root had argued that since she wasn’t the one driving and didn’t even see where it was going, her mind should have a hard time convincing her that this wasn’t real.

Shaw breathes in and out and keeps rubbing the blindfold. It’s actually one of Root’s thin shawls that the weather is too cold for. Of course that’s what Reese went for when he packed some of Root’s clothes. Shaw rolls her eyes, and the small, barely-there spark of relief calms her down a little. She exhales a long breath and closes her eyes, focusing on how the fabric feels between her index finger and thumb.

Then she focuses on the warm air around her and opens her eyes again. Root left the car running along with the heaters before she took Bear’s leash into her hand and limped off to cross the street, still a little slow on her feet.

It feels like this happened an eternity ago, but the clock in the dashboard tells her almost mockingly that it’s been just three minutes.

Shaw hates feeling so—

Helpless.

Not in control.

She swallows and starts pulling on a loose thread of the shawl in her hand, the gun in her other hand almost forgotten. She can’t bring herself to put it away in case she needs it.

Almost two minutes later, the door behind the driver’s seat opens and a happy Bear jumps inside. Root smiles at her and bends down a little to put a duffel bag inside the car as well.

Shaw doesn’t even ask what’s inside, but it looks heavy so her best guess would be that Root also got them some weapons and ammo.

Shaw touches Bear’s snout, lets him lick the hand that is still holding Root’s makeshift blindfold, and watches how Root almost does some kind of weird gymnastics just to bend down low enough to get inside the car. Maybe they should’ve stolen a SUV, Shaw thinks, watching her struggle. It takes her so long that the cold from outside manages to creep inside, enough to make Shaw wish, not for the first time today, to wear an actual jacket.

Damn it, she really needs to get her hands on one.

When Root finally sits, she sighs.

Shaw snorts, immediately a little more at ease now that Root is back in one piece. “You got everything you needed?” she asks and looks with a frown at the folders, the black beanie and black leather bound note book Root holds.

Root nods and shuffles the things around, before she puts them on the console between them. Then she’s holding just one item in her hand, small enough to rest on her open flat palm and—

Shaw immediately recognizes it.

She takes Gen’s Order of Lenin from Root’s hand and turns it around, touching the surface of it with her thumb. She doesn’t even remember when or why she left it at the subway, she just knows it was hidden pretty damn well. “How did you find it?” she asks with a voice she doesn’t really recognize.

Root puts her beanie on and tilts her head a little. “The Machine told me about it,” she tells her and puts the car in reverse to create some more space between their car and the one parking in front of them. “I hope you don’t mind I grabbed it as well. But I thought you might like to have it back,” she continues while she puts the car back into drive and turns the blinker on.

Shaw stares at Root’s profile, looking for the right words that are sitting on her tongue but eventually get stuck in her throat and just make it harder to swallow. She clears her throat. “Thanks,” she mumbles and continues to hold the medal in her hand. Then she remembers Root’s shawl and holds it out to her when Root finally manages to get out of the parking spot without anyone honking at them.

Root smiles at her. “Keep it,” she says and holds the wheel with both hands, despite the red light in front of them. “You might need it.”

 

*

 

When Root said she might need the shawl, Shaw kind of assumed she’d meant the weather and not a shot grazing her right bicep that needs to be bandaged, maybe stitched once she has a quiet minute for herself. She slings the thin material around her wound where some blood is still oozing out. It burns like hell, but she’s happy the bullet missed them and only messed up the display in the dashboard. It smells like burned plastic now.

Root is fine, though, and that’s all that matters.

Shaw ties a knot around the wound with the help of her teeth. “How did he find us?” she asks through gritted teeth, taking her gun back into her hand, and ignores the blood on her fingers. She checks how many bullets she has left, groans again and wonders if she should bother trying to get to the duffel bag Root has indeed filled with various weapons. She abandons the idea due to the time pressure.

“We should’ve ditched this car when I came back from the subway,” Root says with regret in her voice, taking a risky turn with just one hand that gets them even further away from Zoe’s apartment building. They can’t go back like this.

The good news is that the dude started to follow them a decent amount of blocks away from the subway station, and the Machine is pretty sure that they only got targeted by that Samaritan agent because some traffic light camera got a glimpse of Root’s face and the car has been reported as stolen.

Tough shit. Root is right, they should’ve ditched the car.

Maybe not right at the subway, though.

Shaw makes another noise of frustration. “I wish I was driving,” she curses, aware that this is on her and her idea to play passenger this time. But she watches Root make another sharp turn and, well. Suddenly her paranoia seems silly compared to the very real possibility that Root will trash the car with them inside.

Bear whines a little.

Root leans forward a little, looking frantically around. “I have a terrible déjà vu,” she huffs and forms a grim line with her mouth. “Oh, that’s why,” Root suddenly says. Ah, the Machine chirped something into her ear, and Shaw has no idea what these two are talking about.

Shaw turns in her seat and tries to come up with a plan that won’t end in a car crash. Bear looks vaguely uncomfortable, he’s panting and his ears are twitching. Whoever is following them in that black SUV is a dead man, Shaw decides. Attacking them while a dog is in their car is just nasty.

“Don’t change lanes so much, Root. I’m going to try to hit his tires, maybe make him do a flip,” Shaw tells her and takes the seatbelt off while lowering her window completely down.

Root offers no comment in return; instead she changes lanes once more. “She says this one will work better for your plan,” she notes when she hears Shaw’s sigh.

Shaw ignores it and leans further out of her window, the airflow whipping her hair forward. “Slow down,” she calls over her shoulder, taking her gun into her left hand and holding her upper body upright by grapping the handle of the backseat right below the ceiling. She’s now basically sitting on the open window of her door, her legs resting on the seat.

There he is.

The black car approaches them, getting even closer. Shaw can’t see his face, the sunlight streaming through the clouds is reflected by the windshield. All she knows for sure though is that this asshole is alone in that car, and she wonders for a hot second or two why this Samaritan agent is a lone wolf, but ultimately she really doesn’t care.

“Wait with your shot, we’ll approach Murray Hill Tunnel in a few. Aim at the right front tire when I tell you to shoot,” Root instructs her from inside, and Shaw can barely understand her over the wind. She briefly lets go of the handle to give Root a thumbs up.

Some cars are honking as they pass, but Shaw ignores them. She stretches her arm out when the lane behind them frees up a little, and the douchebag is right in her shooting range. But she’s also in his and Root has to swerve left and right to dodge the bullets on Shaw’s behalf.

Not that this dude has a very good aim.

“Get ready,” Root says, slowing down a little.

Shaw glances quickly over her shoulder and, sure enough, there is the entrance ramp of the tunnel—and just one lane to take.

She focuses on the car behind them, wondering if Samaritan knows what she’s about to do. But if there is one thing that no simulation truly managed to do, it’s anticipate correctly what exactly she would do next—over seven thousand times, and it didn’t manage to grasp the concept behind Shaw’s will to pull the trigger on herself over and over again.

She smiles.

And then she aims.

 

*

 

Root turns the radio off when the newscast is over. A traffic accident with one black SUV crashing into the wall at the entrance ramp of the Murray Hill Tunnel is expected to slow traffic down around Park Avenue. A shooting has been reported, the SUV driver is missing. A gang war of sorts is being discussed when Root turns it off.

The car is parked a few blocks away from Zoe’s apartment complex.

“That was close,” Root says, holding her side with a grimace. “Last time I’m driving us around,” she decides with a dry chuckle that turns into an exhausted and pained moan.

Shaw replies with a long-suffering sigh. “A pity the car crash didn’t kill that asshole, though,” she thinks out loud and pats Bear’s head.

Root adjusts her beanie and opens the door. “Let’s go before his friends find us.”

Shaw wordlessly follows her suggestion. This time she opens the door to the backseat on her side and takes Bear’s leash into one hand, the duffel bag in the other. Her gun that has only two shots left is tucked into her pants, and the medal is resting comfortably in her right front pocket. Her arm still hurts when she moves it but it’s an easy pain to ignore.

Shaw is exhausted and it’s not even 6 pm. But the dark sky and her recent adventure has drained her and she is happy enough to offer Root her arm to walk side by side back to Zoe’s place.

They don’t talk and Shaw suspects it’s mostly because Root is trying to keep her breathing smooth and even. There are beads of sweat on her forehead and dark shadows under her eyes.

There is something she wants to ask Root, but she waits until they get back into the apartment before she brings it up. She sits down next to Root, the Order of Lenin in her hand before she places it on the coffee table.

Root has an arm thrown over her eyes and looks like she’s about to fall asleep.

Shaw feels awkward but it won’t leave her alone. “What did the Machine tell you earlier?” she asks, taking a mental break from going over in her head what she could make for dinner.

Root lowers her arm and blinks at her. “What?”

“When that Samaritan agent was following us. The Machine told you something after your déjà vu comment,” Shaw clarifies.

Root hesitates and Shaw doesn’t miss it. She looks to the side, sighs and then lifts her head again to look Shaw in the eyes. “That wasn’t my first run in with that particular agent, though it did end on a better note than the last time,” she chuckles darkly and rubs her side that was pierced by a bullet not too long ago.

Shaw clenches her hand into a fist. “He’s the sniper,” she growls and scoots closer. “What’s his name?” she demands to know, gripping Root’s elbow.

Root looks conflicted as if she knows what Shaw is going to do.

She most certainly does know, Shaw thinks and remembers that she has a snitch sitting in her ear, calculating probabilities in real time.

“Why do you need to know that?”

“It’s faster if you just tell me and I don’t have to track him down on my own,” Shaw says in a flat voice, trying to appear neutral and not eager to put some bullets between the eyes of that bastard.

Something in her face must have betrayed her, though.

Root furrows her brows and makes a thoughtful sound. “Shaw—”

“He’ll come back. With friends, probably,” Shaw reminds her softly.

There is a pause between them. Root studies her face and after a few moments she sighs and relents with a small nod. “The Machine will send you the information about him once she knows where he is.”

Shaw squeezes Root’s elbow in a wordless “thank you”.

Root cups her cheek but she says nothing, just stares at her with deeply worried eyes. It’s enough to get the message across.  

A part of her is tempted to lighten the mood by making a dry remark, but Root’s scream after Martine shot her down is still very present in her memories and so she doesn’t. Instead she leans a little into the touch and closes her eyes.

Fake Root never felt this warm.

 

*

 

Shaw wakes with a start and a hammering heart. She’s covered in sweat and entangled in her sheets. Her hand automatically reaches out to her right, and she relaxes a little when she finds Root’s wrist.

Root shifts in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up. They moved into the guest room after Root decided that she couldn’t stand sleeping another night outside of a real bed. And so Shaw ended up here next to her, insisting that Root still needs monitoring. Root had nodded with a smile that let Shaw know how flimsy her lie was.

The memory of it relaxes her tense body a little.

It takes her a while to get the sheets off her and then she sits up, rubbing her temple and doing some basic breathing exercises to get her heart to slow down.

Shaw looks at Root over her shoulder and tries to shake her nightmare off, but that’s the thing. It wasn’t just another bad dream reminding her of her horrible months in Samaritan’s clutches.

This time it was different.

Root never made it after the sniper attack on her and Finch. In Shaw’s dream, Root died in that car, alone, like some irrelevant number.

Shaw closes her eyes and stares out of the window, letting the familiar night life buzz of the city embrace her and comfort her.

Then she checks her phone.

One new message from a hidden number. When she opens it she knows that the Machine sent it. The message says nothing but a name and an address.

Jeffrey Blackwell.

She’s still pissed this dick survived the crash with no grave injuries since he was able to leave the crash site. She feels excitement climbing up her spine, a small smile on her lips. Hunting down Samaritan agents was her favorite past time when she finally made it back to New York City.

She can do it again, this time with more than just one reason to kill that waste of oxygen.

Root doesn’t stir when she gets up and dresses silently in the dark. Then she grabs her phone and gun from under her pillow and sneaks towards the exit. At the door, she stops and casts one last look at Root’s sleeping form. She sleeps on her stomach and snores a little, one arm outstretched towards Shaw’s now empty side. That dreadful bat plushie also somehow made it into their bed and Shaw just now notices it there, resting between their pillows.

Shaw rolls her eyes and leaves the room, softly closing the door behind her.

She tiptoes into the living room, where Bear is sleeping on the couch. He lifts his head when he hears her approaching and perks up when he recognizes her. He jumps off his sleeping spot and trots over to her, then he stretches at her feet and yawns. It makes her smile and she reaches out with her hand to pet his head.

“I gotta do something. Keep an eye on her, buddy,” Shaw whispers into his ear and walks to the duffel bag she carried inside earlier. She pulls the zipper open and grabs the Heckler & Koch HK416, loads it, puts a silencer on it and takes some additional ammo with her. Then she takes her P226R and reloads it before putting it away in her waistband.

With the rifle slung around her chest, she offers Bear one last scratch before she slips into her boots, puts the stupid cap on and then leaves the apartment with her keys in her hand.

The door makes almost no sound when she closes it.

 

*

 

Stealing a car and making her way over to Blackwell’s address is almost too easy. Shaw kills the engine, and sits inside the car for a bit, staring at the mostly dark building on the other side of the street. The windows of Blackwell’s apartment are all dark so it’s safe to say that he’s asleep.

It’s only 3:48 am.

She rubs her hands together, ignores the biting cold and curses once more the lack of a jacket on her before she closes the door of the stolen car. Then she crosses the street, fairly confident that the Machine’s information about the lack of cameras nearby is accurate and not a trap set up by Samaritan.

Shaw has no idea how the Machine got the address of this Blackwell, because as far as she can tell his apartment building is situated in a black zone. No cameras on that side of the street, and the nearest camera is still too far away to catch details. And by the looks of it, this isn’t any fancy apartment complex either—that means no camera at the entrance.

It’s all the invitation she needs to go through the main entrance. The thrill of breaking in somewhere to do a clean job of getting someone out of the game reminds her of her days as an ISA agent. She’s kind of missed action like this, especially after all the months she’s spent in bed (her secret work outs in her bathroom after figuring out that there is no camera watching her not counting).

The light in the hallway goes on when she’s finally done picking the lock and enters. She feels her phone vibrating and half expects Root calling her to ask where she went—but it’s another message from the Machine.

Apparently, Blackwell lives on the third floor, second door on the left. Shaw starts climbing the stairs, getting a better grip on her HK416, and keeps an eye out for cameras. She spots one right before she walks into its viewing range, stops and takes a better position to find a good aim. Then she takes it out with one shot.

Knowing Samaritan, it’ll wake Blackwell up and he might bolt through the window and take the fire escape down.

Shaw makes her way to the apartment door in question and holds her breath to listen for any noise coming from behind it. It’s completely still inside.

Maybe this Blackwell is some ex-Navy SEAL with an incredible skill set. Not that she can’t take him, because she’s pretty sure she can. It’s just something to consider.

Shaw walks over to the window at the end of the hallway and shoves it open, deciding that climbing into the apartment through the window of that asshole’s apartment is easier. Besides, it’s easier for her to follow that bastard if he bolts through the apartment door. Not many ways to run from there. Her feet step carefully onto the fire escape and she shuffles closer to the apartment window closest to her.

She manages to open the window without causing too much noise, then she slips into the apartment with slow, deliberate movements to reduce the rustling of her equipment and clothes. Looks like she’s broken into his kitchen. It looks ordinary and rarely used.

She tries to hear anything, but the apartment is completely silent around her. She slowly moves forward and ends up in what looks like the dining room slash living room. From here she can see two doors. One half open and revealing a bathroom, the other closed. That must be the bedroom, Shaw decides, not spotting any other doors.

She sneaks up on that door and, when she can’t hear anything, she slowly turns the door knob.

To her surprise the unmade bed is empty. She walks closer, wondering if the Machine has a bug and forgot to tell her that Blackwell left the apartment, but when she creeps closer to the end of the bed she can hear steps behind her.

Shaw swirls around, using the butt stock of her weapon to knock Blackwell’s gun to the side. His hold on the gun must’ve been terrible, because the weapon flies through the air and crashes into the wall right next to another door.

That fucker has been hiding in the fucking bathroom, Shaw realizes when she spots a door leading to that room from the bedroom. He circled her to attack from behind, but he fucked up by wanting to know who broke into his place.

Probably Samaritan’s idea. Clever, but not fast enough. Might have something to do with the slight limp he’s sporting and that ugly black eye that comes with a broken nose. Shaw ducks away when Blackwell’s arms reach for her, just rounds him and gives him a good kick into the lower back. He stumbles and loses his footing, a strained gasp escapes him. Then he spots his gun again and tries to reach for it, but Shaw is faster.

She pulls the trigger and he collapses with a loud groan to the floor. Blood seeps out of the wound, lethal if not patched up within the next ten minutes. She is pretty sure she’s hit something important, causing him a lot of pain.

She kicks the gun away from his reach and watches him struggle to turn onto his side for a look at her.

It really doesn’t help that he’s only wearing a pair of boxers and a simple gray shirt.

Shaw helps him by putting the lights on, so they can have a better look at each other.

God. It’s like looking at a Van Gough knock off with two ears and a smashed in face. That car crash left its marks on him. “Seriously?” she quietly asks no one in particular, stepping closer to that bleeding asshole, who looks up at her with fear in his eyes.

“Look, whoever you are, I’m the wrong guy! This must be a misunderstanding,” he starts pleading with a nasal voice and struggles to keep his breathing even. He’s now lying on his back and a pained whimper leaves his mouth.

Shaw narrows her eyes. “Samaritan probably told you by now who I am,” she says, not buying his miserable act for one second.

His expression changes slightly and he gives his act of innocence up. “Shaw,” he simply says. “Look, I know why you’re here, but it was just a job! I’m new to this whole thing, I didn’t know these people would go so far, I’m just doing what I’m told.”

“You picked up a sniper rifle and didn’t know these people would go so far?” Shaw repeats, squatting down in front of him, her rifle dangling in front of her knees. “That’s a lame ass excuse for someone who almost killed a very good friend of mine.”

“I didn’t know,” Blackwell argues once more. “Please, just… can’t we trade? I’ll give you some intel and you let me go?”

Shaw almost laughs.

These guys are something else. They all think they’re above everything. That’s why Lambert thought he was smarter than her. That’s why Samaritan believed in its ability to turn Shaw into one of its puppets.

Shaw continues to look at him and knows that killing him won’t change much. There are a dozen Blackwells running around, just in Manhattan alone probably, each capable of taking his place. Each a threat on its own.

But this asshole also almost killed Root, and so she feels nothing but a little bit of glee when she pulls the trigger again. One less Samaritan agent to worry about, she thinks when she steps over the now motionless corpse.

She feels like she’s made a good trade. His life for a little peace of mind.

Shaw goes to the kitchen, gets a trash bag and throws inside everything that looks vaguely expensive. She finds some money, a gun and ammo, and these things she keeps. Soon the apartment looks like some burglar broke in and systematically went through every drawer and cupboard in the apartment. Happy with her work, she turns the lights out in the bedroom and makes her way out of the apartment the same way she entered it.

 

*

 

Shaw ditches the filled trash bag into a dumpster and sets it on fire. Then she drives away, feeling light despite being so incredibly tired at the same time.

She can hear sirens, even sees a flash of red and blue lights in her rear mirror, speeding by in the distance.

 

*

 

When she comes back to the apartment, Bear greets her with a wagging tail and lots of hand licking. Shaw made sure to take the gloves off before opening the apartment door. Root is nowhere in sight, and she wonders if the Machine snitched on her or if she’s still asleep and doesn’t know that Shaw was gone almost an hour.

She takes her shoes off, ditches both weapons into the duffel bag and takes the hoodie off. Then she walks to the guest room and slowly opens the door, sneaking a look inside. Root appears to be still asleep, her arm draped over her ridiculous black bat plushie.

Shaw shakes her head a little and slips inside before closing the door again. Then she climbs out of her pants and takes her t-shirt off until she’s left in her shorts and top. When she climbs under the sheets, she doesn’t expect to find her side so cold, and she swallows a curse when she lies down.

And then she almost jumps when she notices Root staring at her.

“Fucking hell, how about you say something instead of looking at me like a creep,” Shaw hisses, swatting her on her arm.

Root chuckles sleepily. “I was busy checking your ass out, sorry,” she yawns and doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Shaw rolls her eyes at the ceiling and loses the fight trying to hide her smile. “You’re an asshole,” she says, going for a grumpy tone but fails. “Since when are you awake?”

“When you left the apartment,” Root says. “She woke me up,” she adds when she meets Shaw’s look.

Shaw isn’t surprised. “But I was gone for almost an hour.”

“So I kept myself busy with writing some more on that virus.” Root lifts her pillow to show that not only is a gun resting there, but also her laptop.

Shaw just hums. And then her curiosity gets the better of her. “What is it going to do?” She looks at the ceiling when she asks this, feeling how Root inches closer to her. Shaw could pretend that Root probably did that to hear her words better, but when Root’s hand settles on Shaw’s she knows better than to try that.

“We don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

Shaw stares at her, still not taking her hand away. “I’m not going to like the virus?” Then she frowns. “Do I have to like the virus?”

“I thought about what was necessary. But I also thought about how I wanted to let Samaritan feel his end coming, you know?” Root starts drawing patterns with her thumb over Shaw’s hand. “So I might’ve used your… experiences as some sort of inspiration.”

Shaw says nothing, just holds her gaze.

Root takes a deep breath. “My code will slowly but surely deconstruct Samaritan’s DNA from within, but I could still choose what to destroy first, so… I decided to start with its information processing. The obtained information through surveillance cameras, audio tapes, phone calls, you name it—it will all seem real and not real at the same time.”

“You want to rob Samaritan’s sense of reality,” Shaw draws the conclusion in a soft, mumbling voice and looks back at the ceiling. Suddenly, it’s hard to look at Root or to process what this gesture means.

Root squeezes her hand.

Then they are silent and it’s not uncomfortable. Shaw is sure that Root is almost asleep when she breaks the silence again. “Did it make y’feel better?” Root asks sleepily, and the slight change in her tone suggests that she’s no longer talking about her super virus.

She’s talking about Blackwell’s fate.

Shaw takes her time to think about the question. She is definitely in a better mood than when she jumped awake from her nightmare, but she wonders now if it’s because of Blackwell or Root’s virus.

Probably both.

She turns her head to look at Root and her lips twitch a little when she nods. “Yes, it did.”

A few minutes later they’re both asleep, Root’s fingers still grazing the back of Shaw’s hand.

 

*

 

“Root, do your breathing exercises before you get lost in hacker code land,” Shaw grunts from the kitchen, without turning around to look at Root perched up on the couch again. She can hear the typing loud and clear. That’s how Root’s spent most of her time the past two days. She keeps furiously working on that virus, and well, their lives kind of depend on it.

Shaw keeps suspecting that it’s only a matter of time until some Samaritan agents pay them a surprise visit.

Root groans. “But my lungs are fine again!”

“Yesterday, you got out of breath walking from the dining table to the coffee table to pick up the remote. Just to tune into that godawful show about brides looking for dresses while their mothers-in-law shit talk everything they try on.”

“I leaned forward the wrong way, that’s why I—” Root stops typing and turns her head to meet Shaw’s triumphant grin. “Fine,” she drawls and scrunches up her nose a little. “I hate doing them. They make me tired.”

“That’s kind of the point. You have to train your lungs to do more than the absolute basic things like not letting you choke to death,” Shaw quips from over her coffee mug and watches Root put her laptop down to take a better sitting position. Then she starts her breathing exercises, earning curious looks from Bear next to her. He keeps turning his head whenever she takes a gulp of air, holds it, and exhales it slowly again, after going through the cycle of seconds she has to count in her head with each step she does. Occasionally she also lifts her left arm to get full mobility back with it as well. She’s almost there.

Shaw finishes her coffee and then goes to the sink to do the dishes from their breakfast. She’s half done when her phone starts to ring.

“You can pick it up,” Shaw tells Root, not bothering to dry her soapy hands for what is probably Reese calling to report about the cold windy weather and some weird illegal shit he and Finch are doing.

Finch, who apparently still doesn’t fully believe Root didn’t die on that fateful day, due to the Machine being a creepy little shit and stealing Root’s voice to manipulate him into taking some… drastic measures for their fight against Samaritan.

Root is still torn between finding it highly flattering that the Machine used her voice to communicate with Finch, and highly alarmed that her beloved robot god would manipulate its creator into illegal activities.

Shaw honestly doesn’t care. She’s still bummed out that Reese insists on doing this alone, probably an ill-advised idea born out of his savior complex.

Then again, Root shouldn’t be out in the field yet, running errands for the Machine or whatever she’d been doing before Shaw got out of Samaritan’s clutches.

Her thoughts are interrupted by her still ringing phone.

“Root?” She turns the water off.

“I’m breathing,” Root calls back in an I-am-holding-my-breath kind of voice.

Honestly, sometimes Shaw’s surprised they work oddly well as roommates, or whatever this arrangement is, but it’s times like these where she tries to channel her old Root feelings that involved less domestic talk and more non-lethal, shoulder grazing bullets.

Each time she thinks about those feelings, she shudders and quickly dismisses the idea of ever trying to do that again. Her very strong aversion to Root getting hurt is something to ponder about—but being broody is more Reese’s way of life.

She jogs to her phone (resting _right next to Root’s open laptop_ ) and takes the call. “Yeah?”

“Am I… is this a wrong time to call?” Zoe asks with a dry tone and Shaw glares at Root who has her eyes closed and is oblivious to it.

“Couldn’t find my phone,” Shaw lies and walks away from Root’s breathing exercises. “What’s up?” she asks and looks through the window behind the dining table. “Your apartment is still looking good,” Shaw adds, in case that’s why Zoe’s calling.

“I’m glad to hear that, but that’s not why I am calling. I’ll be waiting for you guys at two pm in my car. I’m in the neighborhood with my driver, so you can come with me.”

“And go where?”

“You should ask your girlfriend that. Isn’t she talking to Finch’s super creation all the time?”

Shaw leans her forehead against the cool glass and closes her eyes. “She’s not my—”

“Two pm. I have to go, see you later!” Then the call is over and Shaw steps away from the window, leaving the phone on the dining table. “Root, what’s at two pm today?”

“Zoe picks us up,” Root immediately says in between two breaths without opening her eyes.

Shaw crosses her arms. “Yeah, but why?”

Root finishes her breathing cycle and leans back on the couch to look at Shaw. “The Machine wants us to meet her other assets.”

“Other assets?”

“She told me about them only this morning. They’re our back up team. You know, if we were to bite the dust too soon, they could take over.”

Shaw for once doesn’t question this new bit of information, because this would be a really odd thing to install into a Samaritan controlled simulation.

She goes back to the kitchen to finish doing the dishes.

 

*

 

Zoe forgot to mention that her driver would be Leon Tao, who may be wearing a suit and a tie, but still manages to look like an idiot. “Hell no, why do I end up driving you guys around all the time?” are the first words that leave his mouth when he spots them standing next to Zoe in front of a black Audi A6. Root just smiles and greets Zoe with a genuine smile.

Shaw glowers at Leon. “Last time you were less annoying,” she tells him and walks to the trunk to put her duffel bag filled with weapons away. Root suggested she should take it, but Shaw is 100% sure the Machine told Root that.

At times it feels like living with two people in that apartment, of which one decided to just talk to Root.

Shaw doesn’t care… much.

“People were dying! There was no time to be terrified of you!” Leon lets her know when she’s done putting her stuff away and returns to stand next to Root and Bear. He winces and looks to Zoe. “You could’ve mentioned what kind of friends we were picking up. I’m not even sure about this one, she was like dying last time I saw her.”

Shaw really wants to punch him.

Root discreetly curls her hand around Shaw’s fist and squeezes it once.

Shaw takes a deep breath.

The two in front of them haven’t noticed any of that, because Zoe is patiently trying to explain to him what “being a driver means”.

“We talked about this, just drive us to the address I gave you,” is Zoe’s final word and she opens the passenger door to take her seat.

Root and Bear climb into the car behind Leon’s seat, and Shaw takes the other side. Bear immediately lies down at their feet, while Root scoots with her bag over to sit as close as possible next to Shaw without actually sitting on her lap. 

Shaw doesn’t flinch away and that’s reason enough for Root to beam like mad for two blocks. She makes a point to stare out of the window and ignore it.

Leon fiddles with the radio, trying to find a station that plays his whacky music taste, while Zoe is busy replying to some emails on her tablet pc. If it weren’t for the constantly changing radio stations it’d be a nice soothing car ride, with Root’s warmth at her side.

It doesn’t stay like this for long. “Zoe, can I ask you something? There’s something that has bothered me for a while now.”

“Sure, out with it,” Zoe says and turns in her seat to look at Root. If she notices the lack of space between Root’s shoulder and Shaw’s she doesn’t say anything about it, not even with her eyes.

Root leans forward. “How did you find out about the Machine?”

Zoe’s amused smirk turns into a chuckle. “It’s ironic, but it was you, actually.”

“Me?” Root sounds taken aback. Shaw still chances a glance just to make sure. “How?” Genuine curiosity glows in her eyes.

That’s rare, considering the Machine parrots every interesting piece of nonsense into her ear. It’s funny that Zoe knows something Root doesn’t. Then again, Zoe kind of knows everything.

Zoe nods. “John called me for help when he got the Caroline Turing case.”

Oh, now Zoe’s reaction makes more sense.

Root flips her hair a little and sighs. “I knew the Big Lug had help. He’d have never figured out my trick that fast on his own.”

“What are you talking about?” Shaw asks, because while she knows that Root abducted Finch to find the Machine, both Finch and Reese are to this day very reticent when it comes to this story. So Shaw gets the idea of it, but has no details.

“The Big Lug?” Zoe repeats and then laughs. “I’m sure John loves this nickname.”

“If he didn’t kill her for that nickname, she must be scary,” Leon mumbles from his seat, but they ignore him.

“I don’t really care,” Root sing songs and then turns to Shaw. “I figured out how the Machine worked. Or well, I had a solid theory, so I tricked them to confirm it. And it worked better than I dared to hope.”

“She created an alias to get Harold and John’s attention, which is actually what tipped me off. I broke into your office to search your computer, but it deleted itself and then it kept spitting out your name: Root,” Zoe adds with a thoughtful voice of someone who’s reliving a memory in their mind. “I knew that John had to get his little emergency cases somehow, and the moment I realized you set the kill order yourself, I knew that these two had to have access to something that… processed information like that and analyzed it. And honestly? I’m around politicians and their business friends all the time, so you hear all sorts of things. Suddenly the idea of an AI watching us wasn’t so crazy anymore.”

“I had no idea,” Root says, clearly honored or whatever.

Shaw no longer questions why Finch and Reese are so tight lipped about this story. Root played them like a puppet master.

“You’re all crazy,” Leon says with a head shake and then honks the horn. “Drive, dammit!”

Shaw goes back to staring out of the window.

 

*

 

Leon stops the car in front of an abandoned warehouse and turns the engine off. Then he gets out and the others follow. Shaw spots another car nearing them and her hand flies to the gun at her lower back, but Root’s hand on her shoulder stops her. “That’s Lionel and his new partner,” she whispers into her ear and steps away with her bag hanging askew over her shoulder, giving Bear the chance to sniff around and get familiar with this place.

Zoe doesn’t look at the approaching car, instead she’s staring at Shaw. “I like her,” she says nodding to Root.

“Cool,” Shaw says with a pointed look.

Zoe replies with a smug smile.

Thankfully, Fusco’s car stops and two figures emerge; Fusco, who drove the car, and a woman that looks vaguely familiar.

“Hey, Shaw. Nice to see you again. Where’s Cocoa Puffs?”

“Taking Bear for a walk and tiring herself out before we even find out why we’re here,” Shaw deadpans and looks over to Root, who seems to be talking to Bear. It’s a ridiculous sight that should elicit some sort of annoyance, instead she has a hard time looking away.

“Oh, before I forget,” Fusco says, getting her attention back, and motions to the woman next to him. “This is my new partner, Dani Silva, after my old one just ditched me and left the city for a vacation or whatever.”

Ah, that’s why she seems so familiar to Shaw. It’s a former number from almost a year ago. Shaw answers Dani’s small hand wave with a nod.

“He’s in Washington,” Zoe tells Fusco, looking up from her phone. “Probably looking for Finch.” Then she goes back to her phone, typing something.

Shaw clears her throat. “Actually, he found him already,” she tells them and shrugs. “No idea what they’re up to. The—” Shaw stops herself, remembering that Dani is here and then she wonders why she is here, when all present people (including Root a few feet away) know about the Machine.

Dani smiles. “Don’t worry, I know about the AI.”

“Yeah, imagine that,” Fusco immediately jumps in and points at his new partner with his thumb. “She even knew about it before me. Did Reese tell everybody and their mother about Finch’s computer child?”

“I don’t think that Reese was against telling you about it.”

“So it was Glasses. That’s not much better. Really feelin’ the love from the team.”

Shaw has never been so glad for Root to appear next to her to put a stop to Fusco’s whining. She feels a headache growing behind her forehead, and the last thing she needs is Fusco listing all the situations in which him knowing about the damn Machine would’ve been useful.

She’s sure she’d agree with most of his points.

“Alright, the rest are already inside. Let’s go. Leon, stop taking selfies with the car and come on!” Zoe say, her voice giving away how thin her patience is running.

Leon doesn’t look much moved by it.

They all follow her to the warehouse, which has a metal door as an entrance that kind of seems out of place—especially with the three different locks installed on it. Not to mention that it is fairly new compared to the rest of the building, which looks like it‘s just one strong breeze away from falling apart.

Zoe presses her phone to her ear, murmurs an “open the door” into it when someone picks up on the other side and then pushes the door open when a buzz rings through the air. She holds it open for them and one after another they walk inside, Shaw being the last one to enter.

The warehouse on the inside looks modern and has a completely different feel to it than the outside. It looks like someone built a new building inside the corpse of that old warehouse. In fact, the glass front they are facing right now seems to mark where the new “building” starts.

A man with a boring haircut and an excited smirk on his face walks towards the glass wall to let them in.

“Who’s that?” Shaw asks Root.

“No idea. The Machine didn’t tell me who would be here, just who they are as a unit.”

“Our back up team, I got that. Even Lionel being paired up with that detective makes sense. But what is Leon doing here?”

“The Machine figured he might keep out of trouble if he gets something exciting to do. Apparently his number popped up a few times too often.”

“Just to drive Zoe Morgan around?”

“He looks happy enough to me,” Root notes with a dismissive shrug.

Right in time for the guy to finally open that glass door. “Hi, sorry for that. New lock and all. Come in, step inside. The others are at the back. Just walk right through, towards that long wooden table.” His clothes look expensive and so does his watch. Something about him screams money and if Shaw ever saw a younger counterpart to Finch, it’s this guy.

Zoe hugs him like an old friend and Shaw wonders how long this back up team nonsense has been going and why the Machine kept them secret.

Then again, she’s been away for a while, so she kind of questions a lot of things.

“Oh, you brought the dog! Hi, Bear!” the dude says and Bear doesn’t react to him like to someone he knows. He’s happy for the attention all the same, but it is confusing. Shaw leaves it without a comment though, hoping that some explanations will soon be delivered.

They walk all through the room that is actually just one giant hall with some attached metal floors to create another floor. It creates an open atmosphere, but also reminds Shaw of factories, yet the equipment and furniture inside are more fitting for an office of some hipster startup company.

There are some more unfamiliar faces waiting for them in what seems to be a comfy interpretation of the term “conference room”; two women and two men are waiting there. Shaw pegs the one with the undercut as former military just by looking at his stance.

The rest she’s clueless about.

The guy who let them in finally rejoins them and walks over to his people. “Hi, I’m happy you could make it. We have some new guests here due to the Machine changing her team policy, which is a little worrisome, but I guess we’ll find out why soon enough,” he says in a lower tone. “For those who don’t know, I am Logan Pierce, founder of friendczar.com and now working for Harold Finch’s wonderful and at times terrifyingly accurate creation.”

Shaw unzips her hoodie, then she jams her hands into the pockets of her black denims and watches Pierce step back, motioning to the woman closest to him.

“My name is Harper Rose. I’m…a freelancer worker,” she smiles and earns a side eye from the blonde sitting on the table next to her.

She’s the one introducing herself next. “I’m Frankie Wells and I’m a bounty hunter.”

The military guy is next. “I’m Joey Durban,” is all he says. Shaw wonders if the Machine was going for a carbon copy of their team and if that’s why this former military guy with little to say is here. Reese would get along with him just fine, she’s sure of it.

“And I’m Henry Peck,” says the last guy. “I worked for the NSA before I started to ask the wrong questions about the right thing: Finch’s Machine. He was the one who told me it exists, but he also gave me a new identity, telling me to back off if I wanted to live. And yet, here I am,” he smiles and looks at the others. “Actually, that’s how we got recruited. We were former numbers of Harold and John,” he continues to explain, mainly to Fusco, Root and her, since it seems to be old news to the rest.

Leon is so bored, he’s already plundering the retro vending machine offering soda.

For the next ten minutes, each of them briefly offers their story, how they ended up as a recruit of the Machine, but what gets Shaw the most is that this group only started to slowly come together after the stock exchange last November. This means that the Machine deduced from Shaw’s… disappearance that a backup team needs to exist just in case.

Root gasps a little when that realization reaches them at the same time.

Pierce speaks up after they are all done patching their explanation together. “Henry paid me a visit, made his point and—I don’t know, I never regretted joining this… let’s call it a group project.”

“Even with Samaritan existing?” Shaw asks.

Pierce shakes his head. “This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in my life,” he insists.

“After we all got recruited, we got numbers assigned that you guys couldn’t work on because you were busy with other things,” Durban says, awkwardly scratching his head.

“Because we were looking for Sameen,” Root clarifies and then makes a thoughtful noise. “That makes a lot of sense.”

Shaw isn’t sure if she’s still talking to Durban or to their invisible benevolent AI friend, but it doesn’t matter.

Pierce now has the non-existent talking stick back. “And last May, when the Machine went down, we helped you guys get back to your secret bat cave in China town. Well, mostly Frankie and Joey here, because they have the best aim out of all of us.”

“Is that why you helped John and me with Dominic and the other Brotherhood guys?” Fusco pipes up, looking at Harper.

She just winks at him with a smile.

“Think of us as invisible helpers,” Frankie adds.

Root grows more and more thoughtful. “And I thought we were just that lucky,” she sighs dramatically. “But thanks, I guess,” she says with a tilted head and that patronizing smile she likes to use around people she has no idea what to do with.

Shaw shouldn’t be this amused.

And then she remembers something. “Wait, you said something about team policy that’s changed. What did you mean?” She looks in the general direction of the group at the table, not caring who answers her question.

“Well, the Machine wanted us primarily to take care of the work you were understaffed for. It wanted us to keep a low profile though, I don’t know why,” Peck says and looks at Root. “Maybe you know?”

There is a moment of silence when all eyes are on Root. “Because of Finch,” she finally says, and her eyes focus again. “She was worried Harold would disapprove of her decision, since he’s expressed his desire to not endanger any more people after the stock exchange.”

Yeah, that sounds like Finch. Shaw knows it’s a part of him and she is not one who holds a grudge. Now that whole thing with keeping Fusco in the dark makes more sense, too. At some point Finch took the caution a notion too far.

“She?” Leon chimes in when no one says something. He’s holding a coke in his hand, looking at Root with a puzzled expression. “You gave a genderless thing a gender?”

“She likes it,” Root argues.

“What, are you like besties or something?”

Fusco laughs and Zoe bites her lower lip to not join him. Shaw just rolls her eyes.

Root looks at Bear when she answers. “Something like that,” is all she allows.

Leon mumbles a “whatever” and takes another sip from his open bottle.

Pierce clasps his hands and is about to say something when Root goes rigid next to her and drops Bear’s leash. “I don’t understand, what do you mean?” Root asks in a low voice and turns away, focused on nothing in particular in this room.

Shaw watches her and ignores the confused silence behind her. “Root?”

“I think I just received a relevant number, but She’s just repeating a code and the term for it over and over again. It makes no sense,” Root complains and furrows her brows. “HMX-1 and Relevant One.”

Shaw stiffens next to her and stares at her with wide eyes.

Root steps closer. “What does this mean?”

“It’s the code for the President of the United States,” Shaw says in an even voice, but the prickling on her neck is back, followed by some sense of dread that if everything is indeed real then so is this: “The number’s up for our Commander in Chief.”

 


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter might take a while to write due to its complex nature. hope you enjoy this one!

“So, did you two work out a plan?” Shaw asks, an hour into their road trip, and speeds up, watching the wipers move faster as well to keep the windshield clear. It started to snow an hour ago, but the Chevrolet Tahoe that the Machine rented for them (and for Frankie and Durban) has a pretty good grip on the snowed in highway. They’re on a bit of a clock here, after all.

Root doesn’t look up from the open laptop balancing on her knees and continues to type, adding more lines of code to her virus. “She doesn’t know what the exact threat to the President might be, so we’re kind of going in blind.”

“That blows.”

Now Root does look up, mainly to give her an amused smile. “I’m sure we can come up with something,” she says. “We just have to make sure we’ll be there in time,” she adds, squinting at the speedometer that shows how much faster they’re going than the speed limit here allows.

Shaw sighs. “If this was just another irrelevant number then yeah, I’d say let’s wing it. But this is the President,” she reminds her, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “We should have some sort of plan. Is the First Lady in danger too?”

“Enter and extract,” Root mumbles, probably echoing what the Machine is whispering into her ear. Her fingers even stop flying over the keyboard. “And I hope not, but I’ll keep an eye on her. She’s probably going to be the least horrible person in that room, I suppose.”

Shaw looks ahead. “That’s it? That’s all the Machine got? Vague one liners?”

“Do you really need more?”

“Sweet talking me into accepting this as a plan is not going to work,” Shaw points out in mock-annoyance. Root is right—Shaw is fairly sure she can cook up some plan of her own if need be at the last minute. It’s just—

In the simulations it was _always_ her cooking up some vague plan to destroy Samaritan, and all seven thousand times it backfired. She still pretends she’s worried about the others. Root seems occupied enough with her coding project.

If Root notices her silence and thinks anything of it, she doesn’t show it.

“It’s not just me and you, we gotta think of the rest of the team now. Wish the Machine had spilled that secret a bit sooner,” Shaw grumbles finally. “We don’t even know if they’re any good.”

Root gives her a short glance, before staring at her code in silent contemplation. “The Machine trusts them, and so should we. I’m sure once we reach Zoe’s place in Washington we can regroup with the others and you can propose a plan.”

Shaw just nods, focusing on the traffic again. She thinks about Bear and hopes that Fusco is going to take good care of him, like he promised before they left. (“You think this is my first time taking care of Scooby here? He’ll be fine.”) He and Dani stayed behind in New York to keep working on the irrelevant numbers, but mostly to go to their day jobs so that Samaritan won’t notice that something might be amiss. Can’t be too careful these days, Shaw thinks bitterly.

“Any news about Reese and Finch?” Shaw asks, wondering why the Machine is being so cryptic about their whereabouts. Teamwork definitely doesn’t work like that, and the Machine should know better.

Root sighs. “She won’t tell me anything except their vague location: somewhere in Washington DC. Busy with a side project that will tie into ours,” she says and points with her hand at the code in front of her.

“So, chances are they are there because they received the number as well, right?” Shaw counters, glancing at Root, who stops working on the virus again and stares ahead through the windshield, absorbing whatever the Machine is telling her. Shaw’s gotten really good over the past few weeks at spotting all the cues when the all-seeing calculator is talking to her. There is a certain glow in Root’s eyes.

“Could be, yes,” Root murmurs in thought. Then she looks at Shaw. “Worst case scenario: their presence there is somehow connected to us getting the President’s number.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Root says with a distant look in her eyes. “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later.” She pauses and then looks at Shaw again, her fingers hovering over the keyboard with the intent to keep typing.

Shaw meets her gaze when Root stays silent and doesn’t move. “What?”

“How do you feel about overheating Samaritan servers towards the end?”

Shaw only chuckles darkly in lieu of giving an actual answer.

Root types the lines of code anyway.

 

*

 

When they arrive at the address Zoe had given them before they all climbed into the cars the Machine rented for them under its alias “Ernest Thornhill”, Zoe and Leon are already there. Shaw has no idea how Leon managed to get here faster than Root and her, but then again he’s been handed the keys to a Mercedes S600, so. It wasn’t really a fair competition to begin with.

Shaw turns the engine off and takes a deep breath. They have two hours left until the charity event at the White House starts. Plenty of time to come up with an actual plan and get ready for the rescue mission.

Shaw looks at Root, who doesn’t move to leave the car after she’s put her laptop away into her bag. “Something wrong?”

“I hope the virus is going to work. I have a feeling we might need it soon after we’ve saved the president.” Root’s voice barely carries over to her and then she meets Shaw’s gaze. “Things might need to go a little faster afterwards than expected.”

“Meaning?”

“No mistakes tonight, for starters,” Root smiles, but it looks forced and worried. “Let’s go. And don’t forget to take our gear upstairs!”

“On it,” Shaw huffs and gets out of the car to walk to the trunk. When she opens it she spots the black parka the Machine apparently ordered for her, delivered with the rented car, and puts it on. Then she reaches for the garment bag containing Root’s evening dress, as well as the two duffel bags, each filled with one complete set of tactical gear. Shaw is glad she’s not the one who has to wear a dress, but she wonders when exactly Root is supposed to change into the tactical gear. And if this is just the Machine’s way of letting them know that something like last time won’t happen again if it can help it. 

Something Shaw can full heartedly support. Knowing that at some point Root is going to have to wear a Kevlar is a comforting thought.

Her arms full with everything, it’s Root who closes the trunk. She also walks ahead to press the buzzer next to Zoe’s name.

“Yeah?” says a bored male voice. Leon, who is apparently chewing gum. Loudly.

“Open up,” Shaw grunts and adjusts the strap of one of the bags on her shoulder.

Leon says nothing and simply unlocks the door. Root pushes it open and holds it open for Shaw.

When they reach the apartment, Leon just gives them a short look and sighs. He’s wearing a tailored black tux and the only thing missing is the bowtie hanging loosely around the buttoned up collar of his white shirt. “No one else is here yet. Zoe is in the bathroom getting ready,” he explains, rubbing his hair. It is a far cry away from being ready for a fundraiser, unless he plans on going there with what now looks like bed hair.

“You look half-ready,” Root compliments him in her unique nonchalant fashion. She even chortles a little when she says it, like it’s a secret joke.

Shaw just shakes her head and dumps the bags unceremoniously onto the nearest surface—a square little dinner table. The apartment is a lot smaller than Zoe’s loft in New York but Shaw doesn’t expect them to spend much time here.

She walks into the kitchen to make some coffee.

“Joey called, they‘re ten minutes away from Washington. They’ll be staying at Logan’s place, it’s just a few blocks from here. He and Harper are already there,” Leon tells them. “They’ll come over 30 minutes before this fancy hocus pocus starts.” He shrugs and steps in front of the mirror between the apartment door and the coatrack, not waiting for any of them to comment on it. Then he starts fiddling with his bowtie.

Shaw turns away and focuses on filling some water into the coffee machine canister. Then she looks at Root, who’d sat down next to the bags and now watches Leon with curious eyes. She only tears her gaze away from him when Shaw walks over to her with two mugs of coffee.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” Shaw mumbles and passes her the mug without milk and one sugar.

Root sniffs at it and sighs. “We should get dressed soon, too,” she says and takes a careful sip from her coffee.

Shaw nods. “We also need to figure out the logistics of how you’re going to get into your tactical gear,” she adds with a frown. “You’d need to change at some point.”

“I’m sure I’ll have to visit the restroom at some point of the night,” Root tells her and touches her arm to rub soothing circles on it. “We could do it in the White House bathroom.” It’s barely a whisper and the innuendo can be heard back to Manhattan.

Leon makes a choking noise and coughs. “Swallowed my gum,” he rasps and shakes his head.

Root wiggles her eyebrows.

Shaw just rolls her eyes instead of explaining to her that she doesn’t really feel like ‘doing it’ in the White House—or anywhere else for that matter—as long as Samaritan is online.

She sips from her coffee and notices with delay that Root is still rubbing her arm.

 

*

 

One hour later and they are almost ready. The others arrived a bit early, already dolled up or geared up, depending on what part of the vague plan the Machine has assigned them to.

Shaw only sees a glimpse of them before Root calls her name from the bathroom to help her. She can still hear the voices of the other team members filtering through the closed bathroom door. Apparently Harper is telling a joke that everyone but Leon gets.

Shaw steps away from the closed door.

Root is standing with bare feet in the middle of the compact bathroom, trying to reach the zipper on the back of her long, black dress. “Zip me up?” she finally asks, after another failed try. It’s not that she couldn’t reach it—some movements are still too painful to risk it and it makes Shaw’s stomach churn. Not because she thinks Root should stay behind, but because she can see that she’s not 100% back to her recovered self.

She steps closer and moves the zipper up. “You sure you’re up for this?” Shaw asks in a quiet voice and finishes her task.

Root turns around with a wide smile, her eyes shining under the dark eye make-up. Shaw can’t believe she still remembers some of her Macy’s skills from Before Samaritan Fucked With Her Brain. “Thanks, sweetie.” Then she tilts her head and regards Shaw with a long look. “I’ll be fine. She’s insisting on me changing into that hot outfit of yours later to make sure I’ll be as safe as I can be on a mission like that,” Root says and takes advantage of Shaw’s close proximity to pull her closer by her utility belt. “I’ll be good tonight,” she whispers into Shaw’s ear and it’d be so easy to just—

Someone knocks. “You guys done in there? The other bathroom is already taken,” Harper’s voice comes through the door and Shaw steps quickly away, ignoring Root’s amused chuckle.

She opens the door and pushes past Harper without a comment.

 

*

 

“Okay, so the plan is to just walk in, find the President and get him out of there?” Leon repeats after listening to the back and forth between Root, Logan and Henry before they settled on what Shaw would describe as a mostly improv plan. Leon’s summary says it all, to be honest. “That’s insane, and I’m just the driver in that plan, so I don’t know about you guys, but…”

“We don’t have many options here,” Zoe pipes up, crossing her arms. Her sleeveless dress is a dark blue that reveals just enough to still have her look classy. “If the danger is as imminent as Root and Shaw insist it is, we have to work with what we got.”

“Not to mention that there isn’t much room for creativity. The security, even if rigged, is going to be a nightmare,” Pierce adds. “And by that I mean it will be against us.”

Shaw sighs. They’ve been over this already.

“What if something goes wrong?” Frankie asks, playing with a Velcro tab of her vest. “No one can replace the other. We have two teams, and we, the assault team, are out in the open. If we fuck up, you’ll have a hard time getting the POTUS out of there safely.”

“ _If_ we fuck up,” Shaw stresses, feeling Root’s body heat right next to her. “But we won’t. We know the essential parts of the plan, that has to be enough.” Most steps of the plan have been introduced by Root, or actually by the Machine through Root.

It has to be enough.

The skeptical look on Frankie’s face doesn’t completely disappear, but she nods. “Alright, let’s hope so.”

Root shifts next to her. She has a few more inches on Shaw than usual, now that she’s wearing high heels while Shaw is wearing combat boots. “The ones on the floor will have an eye on three things: Secret Service and where our relevant number or his wife could be. The others secure our exit and make sure that Samaritan won’t ruin the party before we can save it,” she reminds them all. “If something does go wrong, don’t panic. The Machine has our back.”

Shaw would call it a bluff, but then again the Machine did pull out a complete back up team seemingly out of nowhere today.

Leon nods along, but he doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks like he just now realized that he might have joined a cult.

Henry checks his watch. “Time to go.”

Everybody grabs what they need and moves towards the door. Shaw is mostly worried about the timing of each step in their patched up plan, but Root hasn’t said anything about the Machine being overly worried, so maybe their odds aren’t looking as bad as she thinks they are. Or maybe the Machine doesn’t want to demoralize them right before their gig.

Shaw turns around end expects to find Root waiting there for her, but the woman is a few feet away, talking to Henry in a low voice. She presses a closed manila envelope into his hands and he nods. Then he leaves, not waiting for anyone else.

Shaw grabs the duffel bag with Root’s things in it and joins her. “What was that about?”

“The next step in our war against Samaritan,” Root simply says and walks ahead through the open apartment door where Zoe is waiting for them to leave so she can lock the apartment.

Shaw doesn’t ask for more details.

 

*

 

“Do you guys copy?” Leon all but yells into the commlink. Shaw pinches the bridge of her nose and wishes she’d be able to get some action already instead of sitting in her Chevrolet Tahoe that’s parked near the treasury department building. Frankie and Durban are sitting in their Chevrolet right behind her, and Shaw could swear she’s just seen Frankie roll her eyes in her rear mirror.

“Dude, how often are you gonna ask that,” Shaw blurts out, adjusting the transparent concierge coiled tube earpiece that is sitting in her right ear. “Shut up already.”

“It’s vital that our communication works,” Leon huffs back. “Your words, not mine.”

“Works just fine, now relax. You’re just the driver.”

“That’s what Frank Martin always says and look where he ends up each time.”

“You aren’t Jason Statham, though,” Frankie chimes in and Shaw can hear Durban’s quiet chuckle.

Leon grumbles something about looking just as good in his suit as Jason Statham and then he shuts up with one last deep sigh.

Shaw takes out her phone and checks the time. Twenty minutes left until the official start of the fundraiser, yet the cars are lining up towards Constitution Avenue, mostly trying to get past the bulk of various news channel vehicles.

Oh, this is going to be more complicated. The subject about the presence of news reporters never came up. Shaw rubs her eyes and then takes her phone out again. She opens the messaging app and starts typing a new message to Fusco, just to kill some time.

_how is bear_

_Arent you busy with a number rN?_

He sends a picture of a peacefully slumbering Bear on the precinct floor anyway.

Shaw smiles and puts the phone away again.

There is static in her ear. “Sameen, maybe you guys should move out a little sooner. The press will be let inside five minutes before the fundraiser officially starts,” Root suddenly says, using her almost-whisper. She must be around people.

“Got it. We’ll be there in five,” Shaw promises and starts the engine. When she slips out of her parking spot and watches the car behind her start to move as well, she gets another message. She assumes it’s Fusco, but it’s Root (or the Machine, it’s never really clear with this phone number) who’s sent her instructions on how to get inside the compound. “Follow me, I think we might get inside undetected at a certain control post,” Shaw says into her commlink and turns right.

“Got it,” Durban replies and follows her dutifully.

In a few minutes they’ve fought their way through the dense evening traffic and turned left into the street leading up to what looks like a closed control post. A giant DO NOT PASS sign is glued to the door of the post, mentioning a broken barrier system. But when Shaw drives up to the gate it lifts with no problem whatsoever.

That damn Machine.

Shaw smiles to herself and speeds up, aware that cameras around that area probably caught their arrival, which means that Samaritan will know—and only the benevolent robot god knows exactly what’s going to happen next.

“Leon, where the hell are you?” Shaw asks into the commlink and slows down when she passes rows of parked cars. Some bored drivers that are waiting for the gala to be over throw curious looks in their direction, but seem overall unbothered by their presence here. No one really noticed which way they came in. Smart.

“Waiting for you near the South Lawn, close to that big ass building on the right.”

“That’s the Treasury Department building. Get ready, we’re on our way.”

Leon is chewing gum again. “Got it.”

 

*

 

Two black Chevrolet Tahoes park behind a black Mercedes S600. Shaw turns the engine off and makes sure that no one is looking their way. Leon found a perfect, small blind spot near the White House South Lawn. They are almost no other cars here, because the most desired spots are closer to the White House that is glowing brightly in the distance. The faint sound of music and laughter reaches them.

Shaw puts her phone into one of the front pockets of her vest and climbs out of the car. The other two in the vehicle behind her move as well when they see her. “We have to find a way inside as fast as possible. The patrolling guards are hired by Samaritan, make sure to dodge them if you can,” she explains to them and turns her head when she hears nearing steps. Leon made it out the car in his tux and bowtie and gives her a thumbs up.

“I’ll stay here, right?” He adjusts his bowtie as if it is essential to his task.

“Yes, wait in the car and be ready for your part. Someone will give you a heads up.”

“Cool, I appreciate that,” Leon says dryly.

Frankie chuckles.

Shaw rolls her eyes.

Durban speaks next, “We’ll make sure you guys have an exit from the White House to get here safely.” Frankie walks to their trunk to open it and retrieve their weapons.

Shaw agrees with a small nod. “No mistakes. Leon, stay on alert. Keep us updated on what’s going on around here, got it?”

“Copy that,” Leon replies with a serious face. He disappears inside his car and starts to fiddle with his phone.

Shaw walks back to her trunk and gets her HK416 out. She puts the strap around her shoulder so the rifle is now dangling in front of her chest. Then she makes sure that her gun is safely tucked away in her drop-leg holster. Once she’s done all that she gets Root’s damn duffel bag out of the trunk and straps it onto her back like a backpack. It adds a noticeable weight on her shoulders, but she can live with it.

She turns around to look at Durban and Frankie who seem ready as well. Durban has an M4 while Frankie has opted for guns only. “We’re ready to go,” Durban says.

“Same here. I’ll contact Root, see how they’re doing. You go ahead and make sure I can find a way inside, mostly unseen.”

“Two minutes, tops,” Durban promises and then looks over to Frankie who looks confident as well. They start moving away, talking with lowered heads quietly to each other. No doubt discussing how they will go about this.

Shaw trusts them to know what they’re doing. Durban is former military; he’ll know what to do if things get dicey. Besides, these two look like they’ve already worked together a few times in similar situations—just maybe not as risky as this one.

“Root?” she asks, making sure her earpiece is still in place.

“Root is talking to the First Lady. Anything I can help with?” Zoe asks instead, sounding vaguely amused about whatever’s going on at the event right now.

“Why is she talking to the First Lady?” How is talking to the First Lady the same thing as keeping an eye on her? Shaw makes a face.

“Something about delicious desserts. I am too far away to hear all of it. I am also trying to avoid certain people, so I’m just watching from afar.”

“How’s the situation on your end?”

“No POTUS in sight, VP is shaking a lot of hands with his wife and chatting to politicians I could ruin within five minutes,” Zoe goes on, sometimes sounding like she’s smiling. Shaw imagines her standing inside and trying not to look like someone who’s talking to herself.

She sighs. “Where’s the rest?”

“Pierce and Harper are dancing and keeping an eye on some of the guys posted in this room. Pretty sure none of them are really what they’re supposed to be. Peck is currently trying to figure out who we’re dealing with. My guess is it’s only our annoying all seeing nemesis,” Zoe concludes. “Background checks look clear.”

“He’s doing background checks _right now?”_

“How far the technology of smartphones has come,” Zoe says with dry humor in her voice. “Still, our all-seeing enemy is their employer no matter how good it can hide the dirt.”

Shaw’s not really surprised. “I’m on my way inside now. Root, do that stupid hair flip if you got it.” She closes the trunk and waits a second. “Did she do it?”

“Yes,” Zoe chuckles and disconnects.

Shaw takes a deep breath and stares towards the White House, looming in the dark like one giant trap.

She starts sneaking through the darkness.

 

*

 

“Root, I’m in,” Shaw whispers after shoving the last unconscious Samaritan agent dressed up as a Secret Service dude into the dark corner of the hallway. The music and chatter is closer now, annoyingly loud for her taste.

“Excuse me, Melissa, but I think I’ll have to find a restroom before this event officially starts,” Root says into the commlink and Shaw understands it as a code. Also, how Root is still talking to the First Lady is a mystery she’s not sure she wants to investigate.

She tiptoes through the empty hallway, hoping not to have to put her silenced rifle to use. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because hiding blood splatter on walls is much harder with so little time to do it. “Come to the bathroom closest to the staff hallway leading to the kitchens,” Shaw advises next, slipping through the door and becomes one with the shadows. With some dumb luck and a lot of skill, she slides inside the bathroom before anyone of the fancy guests out there can spot her.

No one is currently inside this bathroom which is good. Shaw honestly can’t say what she would’ve done if someone had been in here. Knocking important people out is not something beneath her, but they are a little bit on a clock here.

Steps are coming closer and it’s more than just one pair of heels.

Shaw hides in one of the last stalls and locks it, hoping that whoever is coming in with Root—she really hopes it’s Zoe and not the First Lady—won’t spot the heavy boots on her feet that will surely give her away.

The door opens and Root’s melodic fake laughter flows inside. “You might have picked the wrong profession if talking to politicians is so tedious to you,” Root says in her best impression of a compassionate, caring woman.

Shaw feels something like warm reassurance wash over her. This Root is more real than any attempt of Samaritan to copy her. Even if Root’s laugh is fake as fuck.

“Aren’t you getting tired of these talks?” the First Lady asks and good god, what is Root even doing? “I mean, I suppose as the wife of a senator you probably have to endure a lot of them yourself.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Shaw pinches the bridge of her nose. Now that the grounding feeling in reality is dying down, she’s left to feel only annoyance at the fact that Root dragged _the First Lady of the United States into this_. The objective was to keep tabs on her and get her out of here when the time is right. There was no word of involving her sooner than that. Unless the Machine told Root to do it—which again, what the fuck?

“Shaw, the compound on our side is still safe. What’s your ETA?” Durban asks in her ear, unaware of the predicament she’s currently in.

“Not now,” Shaw hisses quietly into the commlink and uses the flush to let Root know that 1) they are still running thin on time and 2) the First Lady is a real curve ball to their “Root getting quickly changed in the bathroom before getting the president safely out of his own house” plan.

“Speaking of tedious talks,” Root says with her actual voice, closely followed by the cracking sound of a taser being used.

Okay, that’s not what Shaw wanted to happen, at all. She pushes the door open and watches how Root is cradling an immobile First Lady in her arms. “Hey, sweetie. Maybe lock the entrance door before someone finds us,” Root suggests in a calm voice.

Shaw locks the door with a quiet clicking sound and then turns around to see how Root has positioned the First Lady against the wall. “You just tasered the First Lady,” Shaw says in a flat voice, stating the obvious.

“I figured out what the danger is,” Root whispers, not answering her question. “Zoe? Make sure that Harper, Logan and Henry are ready to leave when the lights go out. Don’t stay any longer than necessary.”

“Will do,” Zoe replies, not even asking why.

“Already know where to cut the power,” Pierce adds.

Shaw takes a deep breath. “Root?”

“Oh, right,” Root remembers and gets up with a small strained huff. “Time to change,” she announces and waits for Shaw to place the duffel bag on the counter, where five porcelain sinks are lined up.

The First Lady still can’t move or speak, but she glares at them all the same from her spot on the floor. If looks could actually kill, Root would be dead by now.

Shaw looks back to Root. “What is going on?”

“There is a bomb hidden somewhere in the heart of this event. Probably beneath the podium would be my best guess. Samaritan plans to kill the President, so we need to get him out of here before it’s too late. And we have only a few minutes left to make sure that he never walks down to finally hold the speech he’s rewritten three times,” Root rattles down and smiles at the First Lady.

She gets a glare in return.

Shaw watches Root continue to shakily climb out of her shoes and dress until she’s standing in front of Shaw (and the First Lady) in nothing but black underwear. There is still a light bandage covering the bullet wound that pierced her left lung.

Shaw looks away, stepping closer to the First Lady who now has a confused look on her face. “I’m sorry my friend here—“ she points at Root who is  slipping into a dark pair of cargo pants and makes a pained expression, “—had to do this. But you and your husband are in great danger.” She squats down, pushes her rifle aside and checks the pulse of the woman in front of her, just to make sure the stunt Root has pulled on her hasn’t left any kind of damage. “Just between us, she did the same thing to me too when we first met,” Shaw adds in a conspiratorial voice, not sure how else to diffuse the situation. Maybe showing this woman that she can relate with her open disgust and anger directed at Root for being tasered might do the trick? “But what she says is still true: you and your husband are in danger and we’re here to help you.”

“All I see are—are terrorists trying to—to…” The First Lady swallows and is visibly frustrated by how affected her speech still is by the aftereffects of the attack.

“Take it easy. You’ll be able to talk in a few. But I need you to listen. We don’t have much time and the people who are after your husband are very powerful and resourceful. So it’d be great if you could point us in the right direction where your husband is so we can get you both out of here in one piece.”

“How do I know you—you are not after his life? Or—or mine?”

“Because I would have killed you, not tasered you,” Root points out while loading her guns with loud clicking noises, not really helping the tense atmosphere. Then she puts her guns away into her two thigh holsters. Her condescending smile does little to reassure the First Lady. It does, however, a lot to annoy Shaw.

Shaw turns her head a little. “Just focus on getting changed, I got this,” she hisses over her shoulder and looks back at the First Lady. “Ma’am, I promise you that we are the good guys. She’s got a point, though.”

“That’s not very convincing—”

“You had two eggs and a slice of toast for breakfast. Around ten o’clock this morning, your sister called to inform you that she couldn’t make it to the fundraiser, because she’s got the flu. The truth is that she just didn’t feel like attending this event with her cheating husband, David. You know about it, you’ve suspected it for some time and talked with Linus about it three months ago,” Root barrels through the web of information the Machine spits into her ear. She says it with a nonchalance that is so typical for her that Shaw wonders why she even bothered trying to save the situation when Root could’ve done this all along.

Until she looks back at Melissa, who is now more horrified than angry. “How dare you to—”

“The truth is, Melissa, that you are surrounded by wolves dressed as sheep. The Secret Service agents that should’ve come looking for you by now? No sign of them. Curious, isn’t it?” Root goes on and tries helplessly to strap her vest on properly. Shaw is at her side before she can even ask for her help and finishes it for her.

The First Lady stares at them with less hostility in her eyes. Instead, she seems more worried than before. “You could’ve distracted them, or even gotten rid of them,” she starts slowly, still not fully trusting the situation.

This is why Shaw prefers jobs where getting rid of someone is the objective, not saving them. Much faster. Less talking, more action. Though, to be fair, she has an inkling that there will be plenty of action for them once Samaritan catches up with what they’re doing.

“Have you seen your security detail tonight? After you joined the fundraiser?” Shaw asks, stepping closer to the First Lady again.

The woman doesn’t lose any of her grace when she lowers her head in defeat. “No,” she admits with a long exhale. “I assumed they arranged a different tactic for tonight.” Then she lifts her gaze again. “How do you know about all this and why are you here? Who are you?”

Shaw she glances at her watch. “We need to leave now.” She looks over to Root.

“Agreed.” Root checks the already filled pouches, ignores the tactical gloves in the duffel bag and walks over to the First Lady to help her stand.

“Hey! I asked you a question! I won’t go anywhere if you don’t start to explain yourself.”

Root only smiles at the First Lady and remains silent. Judging by her strained expression she’s busy pretending not to feel any kind of pain all while steadying the First Lady.

Shaw walks over to the still locked door and presses her ear against it. No one appears to be right behind that door, so they should hopefully manage to slip away unseen.

“So you’re not going to answer me?” the First Lady asks and makes a face. “Very trust evoking.” She’s still a little uncertain on her own legs, so by default of the situation she has to lean on Root for support and follow her, more or less.

Root, who looks like she could lean on someone for support herself.

Shaw gives Root a hard look that is politely ignored.

“Once we find your dear husband, we’ll explain everything,” Root says and shuffles closer to Shaw, who turns the lock on the door. “And if you let us help you and your husband after we’ve told you all about the big evil, I’ll give you the recipe for my chocolate mousse,” Root promises with a wide smile and a failed wink.

And this is how Root sweet talks the First Lady into walking them to the President’s office.

 

*

 

On their way to the President, Root fills the First Lady in on what’s going on. It’s a very simplified version of the truth and it skips over the existence of Samaritan and its true nature completely. Shaw is certain that it’s due to the time pressure on them, and not because Root has suddenly started to give a crap about the distressed state of the First Lady. She does look a little pale the longer she listens to Root’s short, analytical explanations.

A part of Shaw is even convinced that this is the Machine talking through Root.

Shaw squares her shoulders and waits for the other shoe to drop.

No way Samaritan is just going to let them waltz out of the White House with the President and his wife.

The most notable part of their journey to the Oval Office so far is the glaring lack of any kind of security detail. No one seems to be looking for the First Lady and the Secret Service agents tasked to guard the President are missing as well.

Shaw isn’t surprised though, and she doubts that Root is.

The First Lady, however, seems distraught by the apparent proof that they have been telling the truth all along. “How did you know that this would happen tonight, though?” she asks Root, not for the first time.

Root just gives her another conspiratorial smile.

Shaw rolls her eyes.

They reach a double winged office door. The dimly lit hallway is unguarded, abandoned even. The music and buzzing life of the fundraiser event seem miles away.

Root stops the First Lady’s hand from knocking. “He’s not alone,” she whispers, finding Shaw’s eyes in the dark. This reeks of Samaritan. “Do you know who’s with him?”

“Some colleagues, he said. I don’t know who they are, I haven’t met them.”

“How many?” Shaw asks, just to know what she’s going to be dealing with.

“Three,” Root answers instead of the First Lady. “They are not our enemy, Shaw,” she continues with a gentle smile.

Shaw has a pretty good idea who might be waiting behind that door—at least 2 out of 3. The third person in there is a question mark, though.

Shaw cocks her rifle up and Root takes the second gun out, nodding at Shaw and pushing the First Lady gently to the side, protecting her with her body. Not ideal, but Shaw reminds herself that there is a very expensive, high-quality bulletproof vest shielding Root from whatever is waiting behind that door.

Time to find out.

 

*

 

Seeing Control calmly sitting on a couch right next to the President of the United States is not something Shaw had expected to find inside the Oval Office.

Finding Finch and Reese sitting opposite them in the office is the least surprising thing about this surreal situation, really. That’s what she kind of expected to be honest. But Control? That’s a surprise.

And she really doesn’t like surprises lately.

At least not this kind of surprise.

Her rifle remains trained on Control and she levels her with a stare.

“Melissa?” The President is clearly distressed but Control puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps him seated, all while being poised and calm, as if a fully loaded rifle wasn’t pointed at her. “What is going on?” he asks, directed at everyone in the room.

Control takes her hand away from his shoulder. She seems to have lost some weight and she looks tired. She’s dressed in a simple black pantsuit, while the three men are wearing tailored tuxes. She gives Shaw a little smile that drips with condescension.

Shaw feels a growing itch in her gloved index finger resting on the trigger.

“I’m not being taken hostage by these two,” Melissa explains, giving Root an unsure look. When Root just shrugs, gun still in her hand but pointed to the floor, she looks at her husband again. “Who are these people?” she asks no one in particular and points at the President’s three guests.

Finch is staring at Root, while Reese gives his best impression of an unbothered man with a tense look on his face. “We’re just chatting in here,” he tells the First Lady with what appears to be an awkward attempt at a smile, “about…” and he’s at a loss for words already.

Shaw’s attention snaps back to the rest of the group.

“We’re here about a very urgent matter, Melissa,” Finch helps him out. “Concerning you and your husband’s security.”

“So you are here for the same reason they are?” the First Lady asks and looks back and forth between them.

“That … depends,” Finch allows and gives Root and Shaw a questioning look with a lifted brow. “Are you?”

“As much as I love our bonding talk here, we really need to leave,” Root suddenly says, more alert than before. “Samaritan has joined the party. And the party poopers that have joined us are going to be here in…one minute and twenty eight seconds if we don’t move.”

“Samaritan? I thought you said it’s a—” The President doesn’t finish the sentence and looks at Finch for answers.

And things click into place. Shaw lowers her rifle when she shifts and stares at Finch in disbelief. “You told him about Samaritan. That’s why his number came up,” she rasps out.

“His number came up?” Reese repeats and is suddenly on his feet, gun in his hand seemingly out of nowhere. “We should go,” he says and shares a look with Root, a silent conversation that only these two understand.

Honestly, this is probably the weirdest thing Shaw’s come back home to.  

Things start moving much quicker after that exchange, even if Finch won’t meet Shaw’s eyes again. Really, he should just admit that he’s done something stupid here. Again. She hasn’t forgotten about how he bailed himself out and vanished after Root got hurt. Not that she blames him for bailing—that part is actually cool. But the vanishing part? Someone needs a reminder of how team work is supposed work.

They all get up and start moving, Root leading the group out of the Oval Office. Shaw shares a look with Reese, who gives her a small nod, and she catches up with Root.

“What now?”

Root looks at her, but listens to the Machine. And then she smiles slowly. “Logan? Cut the power,” she whispers. They are immediately surrounded by pitch black darkness and the sound of worried, perplexed fundraiser guests reaches them.

Root looks back at the group, mainly addressing the First Lady and the President. “Stay closely together. If we get split up, move towards the east side exit, cars are waiting there.”

“Got it,” Reese whispers when no one else says a word.

They start to move.

 

*

 

“This is going better than I thought,” Root admits while pressing her back against the wall right next to Shaw. Bullets are whizzing through the air, missing them just by inches. The evacuation downstairs is still in progress, despite the fact that the bomb has detonated and it’s pitch black inside. Sirens are closing in and they really need to leave. “Never thought this is how I’d see the White House from the inside, though. Kind of boring in here.”

“It’s dark, you can’t see shit,” Shaw tells her, spraying some bullets at the three Samaritan agents that are between them and the east exit. “Besides, we should be talking about how to get out of here.”

“You are a spoilsport,” Root sighs melodramatically and Shaw rolls her eyes. Trust this woman to not know when to shut up. “You think this will work?” Root asks and holds up a grenade in her fingers.

Shaw smiles at her.

 

*

 

Somehow they all make it out alive and manage to leave the compound in the last second. Their carpooling arrangements are a little different than planned, simply because no one really expected three more people than initially planned to join them.

Reese, Zoe, Finch and Control are driving in Shaw’s Tahoe. At the sight of the President and his wife, Leon decides to drive Frankie, Durban and Peck instead of staying in that fancy Mercedes S600. So much for being “just like Frank Martin”. Pierce and Harper are the only ones who leave this place the same way they arrived here.

That leaves Shaw and Root to drive the First Couple through the dark and filled streets of Washington DC. They all split up to avoid suspicion by the authorities racing to the White House, but mostly to buy themselves some time from Samaritan. Neither of them has a destination in mind, and Root tells them all over the commlink to wait for the Machine to calculate a safe route to their next stop.

Shaw is fine with driving around as long as no one is following them. She keeps checking each mirror multiple times per minute out of habit. It’s not that she has doubts about the realness of the current events—she’s afraid of the moment it stops feeling real. So far she’s managed to keep her mind occupied, but she has no way of knowing it will remain that way.

The only real indication this is not a simulation is that most of the planning is out of her hands—and she’s just fine with it. After over seven thousand scenarios where her plan to take Samaritan down has cost the lives of her friends over and over again—

Shaw grips the wheel more tightly and takes a deep breath.

She sneaks another look at the rear mirror but the car behind them is a cab that drives at normal speed. Then she looks at their guests on the backseat.

Both the President and the First Lady are very silent in their seats and seem more than just a little alarmed by the turn of events. “How did that bomb even get inside the House?” the First Lady suddenly asks, looking at her husband and then at them.

Root shares a short look with Shaw, but says nothing.

“Melissa—”

“You guys seem to know a lot more than you told me. This is not just a terrorist group trying to kill us to send a message, is it?” the First Lady asks, staring pointedly at Root.

Shaw tries to focus on the traffic in front of her and ignore the sound of a flying chopper nearby. Root has assured them all that the Machine can’t detect any signs that anyone knows where the President currently is. The news report on the radio channel confirms that assessment, but Shaw is still wary. Their enemy is Samaritan, after all. Maybe it wants them to feel a false sense of security so that they slip up, or to lure them into some elaborate trap.

“How much did Harold tell you?” Root eventually asks and turns in her seat a little, just enough to get a glance at the pair in the backseat over her shoulder. She keeps rubbing her side that was shot, and it doesn’t escape Shaw’s attention. “About Samaritan?”

“Enough,” the President says with a tired sigh. “I had no idea. I’ve been told that they are working on a project to counter terrorism, however the details have never been properly disclosed to me, nor have I been told about the fact that it’s already in place. To be fair, I did not ask all that much about it, the briefings focused more on the…success rate than the procedures behind those results. There was mostly talk about specialized teams who were trained for that sort of work.”

“What is that Samaritan you keep talking about?”

“An ASI,” Shaw says and makes a turn on the next intersection. “It’s probably watching us right now.”

“It?”

“So you know what is at stake here?” Root continues to prod, ignoring the confused look of the First Lady.

The President clears his throat. “I know about the danger it presents, yes,” he nods. “But I still have a lot of questions.”

Root nods. “I understand. And you can ask them all on the way to Fort Meade,” she assures him.

“Fort Meade? What? Why are we going there?” Shaw gives her an incredulous look. “Isn’t that…?”

“An NSA facility? It is, but it’s also the belly of the beast, so to speak,” Root replies, finding a more comfortable position to sit in. Then she gives instructions to the others and relaxes a little. “She’s going to take it from here,” she sighs and points at the GPS system coming to life.

Shaw says nothing, already correcting their current route to follow the GPS instructions.

Root leans her leather seat back a little and huffs when she bumps her side into the middle console. “Now, what do you want to know?” she asks the President and the First Lady as if they're about to have a casual chat over mundane things and not the brewing AI-apocalypse.

Shaw shifts in her seat. This is going to be a long drive.


End file.
